Chasing Moonlight
by CrazygurlMadness
Summary: "It's very simple," Ganondorf Dragmire said. "I have a list. And if you retrieve the items on this list, you will be paid the sort of money you and your siblings can live on, like royalty, for the rest of your lives." AU, Zelink. (One chapter a day before BotW's release. - Complete)
1. Prologue

**Hi.**

 **Here's the thing. There are roughly fifteen days until _Breath of the Wild_ releases. And I am going to try really hard to stop looking up more information about it. To achieve this, I will attempt to write one chapter a day for this story. I have never attempted to be so productive, especially with so much work already on my plate. ****So... I might fail, but we'll see. Maybe it'll help you pass the time, too.**

 **Right. Let's try something different with this AU. Some of you who followed along years ago may recall I once mentioned basing a fic on a Bollywood movie that I love because it's so bad, it's good. I guess this is going to be it, albeit so drastically altered in both plot and time period that I might be the only one who considers that there is any resemblance to the movie. Also, there will be no choreographed dance numbers in this fic. Unfortunate, I know.**

 **Okay, let's go. (Again, super duper terrible at titles.)**

 **Chasing Moonlight**  
 **By CM**

* * *

PROLOGUE

Link strode shivering into the Forester home, brushing snow off his lapel and shoulders, and hung his hat absently onto its usual peg. Then, he shrugged his coat off, and shivered again. The narrow house was silent and neither of his siblings' coats were there, which made him certain that he was the first one home.

Removing his boots, he entered the diminutive living room, setting them by the coal stove. With cold fingers, he lit the fire and waited for his hands to warm up.

The workday had been terrible. Another illness was going around Ordon, and he had been forced to pick up the slack for his sick workmates, delivering packages across town in his boss' truck. Around noon, he'd gotten stuck in a snowbank, which had broken one of the wheel spokes, and Mr. Hanch had mournfully told him the repairs would have to come out of his paycheck, which had made all the extra work completely worthless.

Sniffing and feeling the tip of his nose grow warmer as the stove began heating the room at last, Link pondered his situation and hoped Dark or Aryll had been luckier in their fortunes. Rent was overdue and the pile of coal in the cellar was growing steadily smaller.

His stomach grumbled. Yeah, there was that, too.

A cold draft was wafting from the narrow window, and Link noticed that the cloth they'd set against the cracks had become soaked through from the snow. Grunting, he stood and walked over to the window, pulling the soggy, dirty dishcloth away from the sill, to replace it with a dry one.

Which was when he saw the car in the street.

Link wasn't the only one to notice it. A few of the neighbourhood boys were admiring it audibly, huddled together in their frayed coats and caps, until the driver shooed them away with an impatient gesture. They scampered away like only boys could: loudly and with a mix of fear and excitement.

Cars like that, with its fresh, shiny coat of black paint and polished silver headlights, did not usually frequent industrial soot-grimed back alleys like the cul-de-sac the Forester siblings lived on, which was why Link felt queasy.

The driver opened the backseat passenger door, letting the car's occupant out, and Link let out a cuss.

Ducking to hide, and worried he'd been seen anyway, he crawled back towards the stove, grabbing his soggy boots and hopping on one foot to slip them back on. Outside, he heard the snow crunching under polished leather boots, and by the time he had managed to re-equip both boots, the front steps were creaking under the weight of his visitor.

"Shit," he hissed to himself, scampering towards the back of the house, where the claustrophobic kitchen had yet to warm up, and swung open the back door.

Only to come face to face with Onox Gorgon.

Realizing he'd been outdone, Link sighed in defeat. Onox filled the doorjamb and let himself into the house, shutting the door behind him, and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Out front, there was a knock at the door. It was polite, but only just.

"You should get that," Onox said, with a tone that brokered no argument.

There was no use delaying the inevitable. Link trudged back to the front of the house, just as another knock was heard, this time more insistent.

"Yeah, coming," he grumbled. His mind was racing, but coming up with no solutions.

He opened the door and faced Ganondorf Dragmire.

"Forester."

Dragmire hadn't changed in the least since the last time Link had seen him. Perhaps he'd grown even taller, if that was at all possible. His clothes were still at the height of men's fashion, with pointed leather boots, coattails that protected him from the grime, and a top hat, placed on his slicked red hair. He even had a cane, though Link was fairly certain it contained a blade rather than being used to relieve any old ache.

Combined with the clean-shaven look of someone who could afford a barber, Dragmire's golden eyes almost gave him the look of someone approachable.

Link, by contrast, knew he looked just a step above a chimney sweep. With the amount of coal burning in the Ordon winter, it was difficult to keep any pale-coloured clothes, let alone smell like anything else than soot.

"Mr. Dragmire," Link said, defeated. "What can I do for you?"

Dragmire turned to one of his lackeys. Link noticed the street was now suspiciously deserted. Men were posted a few houses down, and it became clear that Ganondorf Dragmire had anticipated his attempt to escape. To his man, whom Link recognized as Byrne Claw, he motioned to bring something forward. Byrne opened the trunk at the back of the car and retrieved a pouch of coal large enough to make Link sweat at the mere sight of it.

"May we come in?" Ganondorf Dragmire said, with the polite tone that made Link feel like a chastised boy all over again.

Silently and sullenly, Link stepped aside. Ganondorf Dragmire walked in, surveying the little house imperiously, and Byrne followed with the sack of coal, shutting the door behind him. With Onox in the kitchen, Link knew he was utterly outnumbered.

"What do you want?" He said again.

Ganondorf Dragmire's chuckle was deep, like thunder, and about as friendly. "Is that any way to talk to someone who, in the cold, dead clutches of winter, walks in with enough coal to warm you and your beloved siblings for two weeks?"

Technically, Link considered, Byrne had been the one to carry the coal in. But he said nothing, waiting. There was always more, and he didn't want to give Dragmire the satisfaction of asking.

Ganondorf Dragmire walked to one of their old couches, studied it with a mixture of interest and disgust, dusted it off, and sat. Then, he observed Link with his cool, golden eyes, and smiled a smile that was almost friendly.

"Tell me, Link," he said. "How has flying with your own wings been treating you?"

Link felt a surge of hatred rise up like hot steam inside of him, but he managed to keep quiet. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction, he told himself, like a mantra.

"Because it seems to me," the rich man said, removing his top hat elegantly, "that it isn't quite what you thought it would be."

"Whatever you want," Link said, unable to keep the snarl out of his tone, "I'm not interested. _We're_ not interested."

"Really?" Ganondorf Dragmire asked, furrowing his brow, feigning puzzlement. "Are you more comfortable _here_?" This elicited a chuckle from Onox and Byrne, who stood in both exits. "In this grandiose palace, this temple to your ability as a man?"

Link inhaled to vent his fury, then seized every ounce of self-control and shut his mouth again. This made both Byrne and Onox guffaw, and even Ganondorf Dragmire's lips pulled into a tiny smirk.

"Forester," he soothed, all accommodation and reason, "I just want to help."

"Well, you're wasting your time," Link said. "You can go, and take your coal with you."

"But don't you want to provide a good home for your brother and sister?" Dragmire asked, absolutely unfazed. "A nice, warm, comfortable home for sweet Aryll?"

Link didn't reply, worried that he might instead leap to Dragmire's throat and strangle him.

"Because," Dragmire said, lightly, "I have a job for you, if you'd like."

"I wouldn't," Link said, with absolute finality.

Ganondorf Dragmire seemed to reflect on this. "Not even a job so disgustingly well-paid that you would never have to worry about warmth and food again? Or even…" He raised a hand, feeling the draft from the window with interest, and looking at the wet cloth on the sill, "… house repairs?"

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"What if I sweetened the deal?" Dragmire asked, still tilting his hand in the cold draft absently. "And told you that if you say no, I will ruin your and your brother's employment prospects to such a degree that the only way your beloved, darling sister will be able to eat will be by exposing herself to drunk factory workers every night?"

Link grabbed a chair, ready to hurl it, when Byrne slammed him against the wall, cutting off his breathing. The chair clattered to the floor, one of its legs snapping, and Link reached up to try to pry Bryne's hands off of his throat, to no avail.

As his vision grew darker, Link started to kick. Then, suddenly, with a single flick of Ganondorf Dragmire's hand, Byrne let go, and Link collapsed.

Ganondorf Dragmire hadn't moved, hadn't flinched. His voice was cold when he said, "Leaving was a mistake. I let you go on with this little self-perpetuated lie long enough. Soon," he added, standing to full height, "you will run out of whatever pitiful funds you managed to pocket when you left three years ago. And when that day comes, and your stomach begins to grumble, and the long cold nights begin to chip away at your sanity, you will use your skills again."

"I won't," Link said, his voice hoarse.

"You were a natural," Ganondorf Dragmire said, grandiose as he once again adopted his friendly politician's smile. "You are wasting your talents, rotting in this hovel."

Link leaned his head back against the wall, having decided that getting up just wasn't worth it, and looked at Dragmire with disinterest. "I won't do it."

"You will when you hear how much I intend to pay you," Dragmire said, reaching into his inside coat pocket.

"There's no amount of―"

"Forty thousand rupees," Dragmire continued, without heeding the interruption. From his coat, he pulled out a folded envelope. "As a first installment."

Link grimaced. "Oh, come on," he said, angrily. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Fine," Ganondorf shrugged. " _Fifty_ thousand up front. And it would be _such_ easy money for a man of your ability." He sounded pitifully saccharine. Link felt bile rise in this throat.

"I don't know what you're expecting for that kind of money, but I want no part in it."

Dragmire strode forward and knelt down to look Link in the eye. "But you do," he said, softly, knowingly, and in that moment, Link hated him with a passion, and hated himself even more. "You know that it's only a matter of time. Aren't you tired? Tired of running from what you really are?"

" _This_ is who I am."

Ganondorf Dragmire scoffed. "It won't be for long. As we speak, personal notes regarding your employment ―and your brother's employment, too― are being read by your superiors. Something about your character, and how I, a man of such upstanding moral standards, cannot stand to know that actual thieves are working for these fine gentlemen." He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it. "By now, your dismissal should be complete."

Link grit his teeth. "That's a lie."

Dragmire looked mournful. "Oh, but it isn't. You see, it's time you came to your senses, and I'm not averse to giving you and your talented, hard-working brother a bit of a nudge."

Link glared at him, but Dragmire withstood the look with a serene smile. And in that moment, Link knew he was telling the truth, and he was trapped. At length, he averted his eyes, utterly defeated, feeling the anger disperse, replaced only by great weariness.

"What do you want?"

The triumph that spread across Ganondorf Dragmire's face in that moment filled Link with shame and self-hatred.

"It's very simple," the rich man said, standing once again. "I have a list."

"A list," Link echoed, flatly.

"Yes. And if you retrieve the items on this list, you will be paid fifty thousand rupees per item, and a further hundred thousand rupees thereafter, every year, until the day you die."

Link's mind swam. "But that's―"

"A ridiculous amount of money," Dragmire said. "The sort of money you and your siblings can live on, like royalty, for the rest of your lives."

"What in skies, seas and sands is on that list?" Link asked, frowning.

Ganondorf Dragmire handed him the envelope. "Artifacts of interest to me. Trifles, really, but I am a man of sentimental attachment." The smile on his face had a touch of insanity to it, the sort of insanity that Link had seen before in him, that seemed to lie below the surface of every single one of their interactions.

Link took the envelope, but Ganondorf Dragmire's hand darted out and grabbed his wrist so hard that Link felt his bones strain.

"If you are caught, I will deny―"

"Everything," Link interrupted him with annoyance. "I remember."

"Good," Ganondorf said, his smile broadening. "I knew you would." His gaze was dark, hungry and terrifying, and he released Link's wrist. Then, retrieving his top hat from Byrne, he carefully put it back on his slicked red hair and said, "Give my regards to your sister."

Then, as soon as Byrne reopened the front door, he strode out into the snow, following by his lackeys. As the last to leave, Onox leaned in and said, awkwardly, as was his wont, "Have a nice day."

Then, he shut the door.

Link slumped against the wall, too tired to think, thoughts in a jumble. The envelope felt heavy in his hand.

Outside, the big shiny car's engine revved to life, and Link heard Ganondorf Dragmire disappear around the corner with what remained of his tattered, coal-blackened pride.

There was work to be done.

* * *

 **Here's how this is going to work. I will write like a maniac, with the goal of posting at least once every 24 hours until _Breath of the Wild_ releases, and if you enjoy it, you leave a review.**

 **Are you with me?**


	2. Ordon

**Just dropping my obligatory post before I go back to writing the next chapter.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

ORDON

Three weeks later, when Aryll appeared in the fitting room at the Ordon tailor's shop, she looked grim.

At first, Link didn't notice, because he was busy trying on his custom-made overcoat, a slim-fitting garment that made him look almost respectable. It had covered buttons and even a trim of thin satin, just like in the fashion papers Aryll collected. Combined with his brand new waistcoat and slacks, and paired with one of the hatter's best confections, he might eventually look like a young gentleman.

Even Aryll paused in the doorway, surprised. Next to him, Dark was studying himself in the mirror, evidently pleased with himself.

"Well, Mr. Tailor," she said, to the expectant tradesman, "you've managed the impossible."

Link turned to look at her and grinned broadly. "He said I have the right shoulders for this cut." He had only a vague idea of what it meant, but he was sure Aryll did. And when she rolled her eyes, he knew he had been right.

"What do you say, sis'?" Dark asked, coming to stand by Link and striking the same pose as the mannequin next to him. "Don't your two big brothers look like excellent catches?"

"Yes," she said, annoyed. "I promise my friends will want you to ask them to go dancing on Thursday. How much have you spent so far?"

The tailor excused himself, unwilling to be questioned, too, and Dark leaned forward. "I'm at two thousand, and Link might catch up to me."

Link rolled his eyes. "It's not a race, you know." He looked at Aryll. "You should visit the seamstress, too. You're no less a part of this family."

Aryll looked down at her plain patterned dress, under the thin wool coat she had bought from an old work friend. It was too big on her, mostly because she had been underfed for so long. Then, she made a face. "I don't feel comfortable spending that man's money. Still getting used to the idea."

Link understood what she meant. If he stopped to think about it for too long, he, too, felt a strange sickness in his stomach at the thought. There was more to it, though. Aryll was easy to read. "What is it?"

Dark turned away from the mirror, where he was admiring himself again, and peered at them both with curiosity.

Aryll plopped down on a settee, looking up at her two brothers. "Well, I've found all of the items on the list. There's the good news. The bad news is twofold: first, they're scattered across the country and even beyond, and second, they all belong to the same guy."

Link and Dark exchanged looks.

"Sounds like a vendetta, maybe," Dark said, softly, as the tailor reappeared with more boxes of clothes they had ordered.

"Who's the guy?" Link asked, unable to shake an uncomfortable feeling.

Aryll peered at the notes in her hands. "One _Lionel Nohansen_ ," she read. "Retired judge. Currently hospitalized. Unknown illness."

"Ugh," Dark said. "Definitely a vendetta."

Link found himself inclined to agree. Still, "why would his personal collection be scattered like that?" Link asked. "Wouldn't he want them all in one vault?"

Aryll shrugged. "Most of them are generously on display in various exhibitions. What's the use in having treasures if no one knows you have them?"

"Are there any here, in Ordon?" Dark asked.

"None. The nearest is in Faron and―" Aryll sighed exasperated. "No, you know what, I don't want to talk about that one right now. That one is going to be a pain." She leafed through her library notes. "The easiest would honestly be in Termina. In Clock Town, more specifically."

"There's a plan," Dark said. "Start us off easy, sis." Link snorted humourlessly in reply.

"Well, more or less," Aryll said. "We're a little lucky with this one. It was pulled out of protective storage for a temporary exhibition on the art of theatre. _Masks and the Stage_. Notes say _he_ wants one particular mask, called Majora's Mask. And the exhibition won't close before another month."

"Alright. Should be easy enough," Dark said.

"If you say so," Aryll said, sweetly. "But you're going to need better clothes."

"What?" Dark looked down at himself, then at the tailor, then back at Aryll. "Why? What's wrong with these? They're better than anything I've ever worn." He patted the tailor's shoulder as the man demurred.

"The exhibition is presented at the Clock Town Opera," Aryll explained. "And access to the exhibition is only possible if you've bought tickets to a play."

Link couldn't help but groan. "We need evening wear."

"White tie, too," Aryll confirmed.

Dark rolled his eyes. "Skies, these rich people. I swear." He turned back to the tailor. "Well, you heard the lady, we're going to need evening clothes. White tie, like she said."

"Yes, sir," the tailor said. "But, ah, what shall I do with your old clothes, sir?"

The pile of dirty rags they had worn their entire lives lay in a corner of the fitting room, utterly unappealing. Link and Dark exchanged looks.

"Burn them," Dark finally said, with a shudder.

Later, when they walked out, having organized the delivery of their new clothes to their new lodgings, Dark offered his arm to Aryll.

"So," he asked, smiling and tipping his new hat to a couple of passing women, who giggled at the sight of him, "what is that word you keep using for those boys you find handsome?"

Aryll rolled her eyes, but took his arm anyway. "Dapper. And yes, you both look fine." By comparison, her own plain clothes next to theirs made her look like a charity case.

Link couldn't help but agree with her assessment though. The reflection in the store windows that stared back at him was like a different person's entirely. Gone was the strange coal grime and the too-long hair. He looked like a young man of good society, the sort to go racing cars on the weekend. Or bet his father's money at the card house.

That this change had been purchased with Ganondorf Dragmire's money soured the entire experience.

Why would Dragmire care about stealing one man's most valuable items? Eight items there were, all of them strangely assorted, and spread across Hylia in the least convenient way possible. What use did they have to Link's old mentor?

Lionel Nohansen. Link couldn't recall that Ganondorf Dragmire had ever had an enemy by that name, but perhaps this was a recent, or a very old, affront. And now the man was in the hospital. Perhaps Dragmire was merely trying to hurt him while he was down. That did sound like something he would do.

Ahead of him, Dark and Aryll were chatting, and Link felt his heart pinch. It was nice to know they had all eaten breakfast _and_ lunch today, and that they were comfortably lodged, but still, the same unease continued to eat at him. They were in debt to a madman.

He knew that Dark, despite his light-hearted jokes, felt just as Link did. He hadn't been happy to know that Ganondorf Dragmire had found them, but his attempts to recover his only job had been rebuked, fear evident in his boss' eyes. Link had had similar luck. They had only one path forward now.

For now.

For a moment, a thought slid inside Link's mind, evasive and dangerous.

Perhaps Lionel Nohansen would be more… tractable?

He dismissed the idea almost immediately. Even if Nohansen was conscious and willing to help them, there was no hiding from Ganondorf Dragmire. Still, it would have been so nice to thumb his nose at him.

At that moment, the low pregnant gray skies opened, and snow began to gently fall, adding to the existing banks and pricking at his skin as the flakes melted.

Something caught his attention, a low whistle that he hadn't heard in ages. A signal, barely audible over the bustle of the street, the puttering of passing cars and the distant sound of factories. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Over here," the whistler's voice softly called. A side street― if it could be called that. Link backtracked a little and peered into it, an alley just wide enough for two persons to brush shoulders in. Against the crumbling bricks, shoulders lifted against the cold, the boy waited, his cap pulled low over his eyes and hiding the mess of brown hair, his ears red from the cold. He wore the tattered clothes of lads who grow too fast and end up with their cousins' hand-me-downs.

He'd had a growth spurt, but Link recognized him immediately.

"Talo," he said, pleasantly surprised. "Skies," he grinned, "you've gotten so _tall_. Look at you."

The boy smiled back, though from the looks of it, he'd soon be a young man. Glancing up and down at Link's new clothes, Talo raised a brow. "And you're gotten richer."

Link's grin dissolved somewhat, soured by the reminder. "Yeah," he said, sighing. "I've had a busy month."

Talo nodded, moving away from the wall. "We've heard."

A sound of footsteps grew louder, and both Aryll and Dark appeared at the alley's entrance, frowning.

"There you are!" Aryll exclaimed, striding forward towards Link. "You can't just― Talo!" She turned to look at the boy with surprise. Her expression then changed, like sudden sunlight breaking through a storm. "My goodness, it's been so long!"

Link and Dark exchanged looks as Talo grew flustered. Aryll had always had an effect on boys. Accordingly, the boy's ears grew even redder. "Er, yeah."

"So, have you been following us?" Link asked, if only to prevent Aryll from remarking on Talo's newfound height and embarrassing him further.

Talo straightened. "It's not like you made it difficult. Malo asked me to find you." Talo's younger, shrewder brother. Link recalled a boy of barely ten years capable of extracting information from men far more experienced. Talo had always been the legs, and Malo, the brain.

"Malo?" Dark echoed. "Skies, has he already taken over from Pergie?"

Talo shrugged. "Mom split the territory with him. Allows her to play cards on Tuesdays."

"And _he_ asked you to find us?" Link prompted.

Talo kicked at the snow on his boot's toe, then squinted at the sky, watching the snow fall. "Yeah. He heard from a guy who heard from a guy that you're looking for a few things."

Link, Dark and Aryll remained quiet, waiting. Talo watched them expectantly, but when they didn't push, he smiled and shook his head.

"Skies, you haven't changed. Look," he shifted his weight, "for a reasonable price, you can get a bit of a hand."

"Define reasonable," Dark said, before Link could beat him to it.

Talo shrugged. "Malo asked me to negotiate starting at ten percent."

Dark guffawed and Link rolled his eyes. Aryll, though, stepped forward, startling Talo, and brought her nose in with a squint. "Two."

Talo's chin jutted forward defiantly. "Seven."

"Three."

"Six."

"Five," she countered, "and that's final."

"Deal, and thank you very much," Talo said, immediately breaking into a pleased grin. He reached into his pant pockets, searching, but found nothing. At length, he checked his vest pocket, and found a mint. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. Then, he added, chewing on his candy with satisfaction, "When you get to Clock Town, ask to speak to Judo and Marilla Rosa, at the Opera." He adjusted his cap as the snow intensified. "That'll be five percent, remember."

Then, whistling, he turned on his heel and walked away, his lanky form growing smaller until he turned a corner and disappeared.

Dark pursed his lips. "You know," he finally said, "for information peddlers, they're awfully bad at providing actual information."

Aryll was frowning. "I don't like that our business was so quickly discovered," she said. "We used to be less scrutinized, but it looks like Ganondorf Dragmire's visit didn't go unnoticed. We may need to be more careful going forward. Anyone could be listening in."

Shivering, she looked around them, but they were decidedly alone in the narrow alley. Even the falling snow muffled their voices. But she looked miserable nonetheless.

Dark reached out and snaked an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in to warm her up. "That's it," he said, steering her back out of the alley. "We're getting you a new coat."

"Judo and Marilla Rosa," Link said, thoughtfully, as he followed them out and fell into step with them. "Who are they?"

"Hopefully," Dark said, wistfully, "contortionist twins."

"Hopefully," Aryll corrected him, her eyes full of reprimand, "they will be less expensive than Malo and Talo."

"Probably not," Dark mused. "I mean, contortionist twins ought to be pretty costly. They provide a valuable service." He sighed, then chuckled when Aryll slapped his arm.

Link, for his part, continued to reflect on their task. His thoughts kept returning to their mark. Lionel Nohansen. Why did Ganondorf Dragmire want to steal from him like that? Was there really a vendetta? And how could Link be able to live with himself, stealing from a dying man?

Something inside him rebelled against the notion. Perhaps, in another life, there had been a desperate sort of ruthlessness in his heart, a cold single-mindedness that helped him forget the lives he upset. Perhaps, years ago, he might have continued to follow Ganondorf Dragmire's orders without question.

But then…

Then, there had been the old man.

If he paused to remember, he could almost remember every detail in the old man's face, with his white beard and benevolent eyes, where the smile shone through, creasing at the corners. And how, having caught Link in the act, the man had given him his coin and asked him only to leave the ruby heart-shaped pendant in the box. For his daughter, he'd said. She was around Link's age, he'd explained, and the light of his life.

And Link had done it. He'd returned to Dark, waiting in the street, with a new feeling in his heart that was a combination of shame and hope, both utterly alien to him. And… terror at his own weakness.

Dragmire had been irate, refusing them their cut. The pendant, he'd insisted, was clearly the real treasure. And when Link lied and told him it the stone in the middle had been glass, not a ruby, Dragmire had made Byrne Claw lock him in the cellar. Link could remember the look of sheer insanity in Ganondorf Dragmire's golden eyes, the wild red hair, the raised fist, the pain of a broken nose.

Link still wondered, to this day, whether Dragmire had known he was lying, or if he simply didn't want to be defied. There were days Link considered both highly likely, but it was more comforting to pretend that his lies weren't so easy to unveil.

Stealing, thereafter, had become less and less of a thrill. It had grown like a weight, wrong and guilt-inducing, because in every item, every precious memory, Link saw the old man, and the smile lines around his eyes, and felt he had betrayed a father.

Once upon a time, Link reflected, a boy had learned kindness.

Dark and Aryll hadn't questioned his decision to leave, and had endured near starvation and biting cold for the love and solidarity they bore him. Was he really to throw it all away, in exchange for warm clothes and a full belly?

Evidently, he realized with shame as Dark opened the door to the seamstress' shop with a flourish, announcing that Aryll was to have the warmest coat in Ordon, he was.

* * *

 **I got questions about how long I'll go on, so here you go: I will write one chapter per day until BotW's release, with the plan to end it the day before release. So, we're talking approximately 14 chapters total. Obviously, things will be pretty fast paced, but I'll make an effort to keep things both readable and fun.**

 **Let me know if you liked this chapter. We'll move scenery tomorrow.**


	3. Snowpeak

**I'll be answering the few questions I got at the bottom. See you there.**

* * *

SNOWPEAK

Winter. Zelda exhaled and watched with interest as her breath coalesced into a thin cloud of vapour before evaporating in the air.

Snowpeak was in its full winter pomp, with evergreens adorning every door and window, and lights strung up between buildings. It was a pretty town, with stone chimneys rising from steeply inclined roofs, their wisps of smoke disappearing in the clear mountain air. From the window of her car, she watched as groups of children returned from school, their colourful coats billowing behind them. She could almost recall having been that young, with braids in her hair and a determination to learn her Zora syntax correctly, for once.

Turning her attention back to the inside of the carriage, her eyes came to rest on the package in her lap, carefully wrapped in paper and string. She wondered.

"We're almost there, Ma'am," the carriage boy said, leaning down and holding onto his hat so it wouldn't fall off.

"Thank you," she said, softly.

Ahead of her, on the right, in a position of prominence, ahead of the rising slope that lead to the Snowpeak summit, nestled between the public baths and the hospital, Mrs. Yeta's Home for the Sick had stoutly adopted the more imperial architecture of Castleton, its colonnades and triangular roof reminiscent of an antique palace.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the heavy iron doors, and Zelda allowed the driver to help her out. After thanking him and paying the boy a tip for retrieving her diminutive bag of personal effects, she seized her luggage in one hand and her package in the other, resolutely climbing the front steps of the building.

Mrs. Yeta welcomed her warmly. She was large and homely, with the firm grip of a matron used to lifting the sick to and from their beds.

"I will not be staying long," Zelda said, gently. The marble cleanliness of the entrance hall had a way of making her feel uncomfortable. She preferred quiet, enclosed studies, where one might bury their nose in a book and forget the mess. "May I see him?"

"Of course," Mrs. Yeta grunted, and she sharply motioned to a nurse to attend to Zelda. The nurse jumped to attention, and Zelda followed her through a long corridor, past dozens of occupied beds and sleeping patients.

They climbed a short flight of stairs, then followed another corridor. Here, the smell of sulfur began to feel a little more pungent. The Home, like the baths next door, was built on a natural spring of hot water that smelled powerfully unpleasant and had the reputation of clearing a host of ailments.

"Here he is," the nurse meekly said, opening the door to a private room and letting Zelda in.

"Thank you," Zelda said, to the nurse, who curtsied and hurried away, shutting the door behind her.

Gently setting her bag down, Zelda shrugged out of her winter coat, a long, elegant cut with a fur-lining that was unmatched for warmth, if outdated by a few seasons. She set it on a chair by the door, removing her bell hat and setting it on top of her coat. Her gloves came off, too.

Then, the hem of her dress whispering around her calves, she approached her father's bed.

He looked older than he was, really. Even with the beard, she could see the hollowness of his cheeks and the paleness of his skin. He was growing weaker by the month. His breathing was deep, though, and his platter of food lay entirely eaten at the end of the bed. That, at least, was better than nothing.

She reached out to touch his hand, which had grown thinner, the veins and bones pulling at his skin.

His eyes opened, and lighted on her with instant awareness.

Wearily, he breathed, "Zelda. My dear." His smile was tired.

"Papa," she said, smiling warmly and leaning down to kiss his forehead affectionately. "You look well," she added, lying.

"Good," he said. "Though I don't feel it. Sit by me."

"I'm glad that your appetite hasn't changed," she said, pulling another chair forward to be closer and sitting in it. "Mrs. Yeta assured me you were eating the Home out of its larder."

He gently harrumphed. "That old harridan keeps me on rations. _Rations_ , she said." He rolled his eyes, and the father Zelda knew best made his appearance for a brief moment. "I didn't fight in the war to be put on rations in this," he raised a hand, dramatically, "the _twilight_ of my life."

"This isn't the twilight of your life," Zelda chastised, ignoring the spike of horror in her heart. "You will get better." She hesitated, then said, "I brought you something."

He smiled expectantly as she retrieved the wrapped package and handed it to him. He pushed himself up to sit in bed, and she rearranged his pillows behind him. Then, with a twinkle in his eye that reminded Zelda of the strong man who had raised her and taught her to read, he said, "I can open it, really?"

She smiled, and she knew her eyes were crinkling at the corners, just like his. "Of course."

He set about the task with gentle eagerness, his hands shaking only slightly, and pulled at the string. Then, sliding a finger into the folds of the paper, he pulled, ripping it away, and revealed a book.

Squinting at the cover, then gratefully accepting his spectacles from Zelda, he read, down his nose, with his usual scholarly look, "An History of Prophecies." He set his glasses down, and shot Zelda a flat look. "Zelda."

"Just read it," she said. "Please, Papa."

He sighed, shooting the book a perplexed look. "Sometimes, I don't understand you, my daughter. You know there is no such thing as prophecy."

"Just read the book," Zelda said. "Mr. Mudora makes a compelling argument on the nature of belief and the philosophy of the unknowable."

Her father looked at her, evidently at a loss. Then, a tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "My dearest," he said, looking at the ceiling as though invoking a higher power, "my most darling and favourite, my very precious daughter. Whatever am I to do with you?"

Zelda smiled. "This is entirely your fault, you know."

" _My_ fault?" He scoffed, smiling broadly at the accusation. "And how can that be?"

"You told me about all those legends," she insisted. "I could have been a mathematician, like Mama. Instead, you raised a historian."

He looked ridiculously proud of himself. He examined the book cover again, holding it up. "Well," he finally said, "if such crimes are laid at my door by one I love so dearly, they must be true." Pointedly, he said, turning his blue gaze on her, with his best magistrate's severity, "I will read it, but I shall hate every word."

"Excellent," Zelda said, leaning back in satisfaction. "Make sure you underline those passages that really angered you, so that we may discuss them."

"I most certainly will," he said, setting the book aside on his bedside table. "And now, it's my turn. I have something for you too." He motioned to the writing desk near the far window. "Those papers, there. If you wouldn't mind."

Standing, Zelda retrieved the documents. He motioned for her to read, so she came back next to him and scanned the header.

"On this, the 23rd of Unember, in the Hylian year of…" she trailed off. Then, skipping ahead, her reading voice's volume grew in alarm with every word: "With full and lucid understanding of the laws of inheritance and their limitations, I, Lionel Nohansen Harkinian, hereby bequeath the _entirety of my fortune and belongings_ ― Papa!"

"Now, now," he said, appeasingly, "it is but a precaution, nothing more."

"I don't want to hear it," Zelda said, dropping the sheets on his bed, as though the very touch of them seared her fingers. "You're _not_ going to die."

He looked weary. "Darling…"

"And you are not going to get better," she went on, standing and pacing, "by being this defeatist."

"Zelda."

" _What_?" She was shaking, and when she turned, he shot her a kind look, in that way he always had.

"I'm doing this for you, my dear," he said, reasonable and comforting. But it was so wrong that Zelda shuddered. "And I know you are struggling with the idea, but that's alright. I am not saying that this is it. I just want to be prepared. Just in case."

"Just in case," Zelda echoed, angrily.

"Yes. Come here."

She returned to her chair by his bedside. He reached out, taking her hand, and Zelda could feel her eyes burning, hot tears threatening to spill out.

"My beautiful, precious daughter," he said, softly, rubbing her hand with his thumb, and now the tears did come. "I do not need to agree with every single one of your ideas to trust that you are a bright, capable young woman. And I have waited too long to update my will, in any case. The last version predated your mother's death." He took a deep breath. "I simply refuse to be burdened by the possibility that our business is not in order. If you signed these documents, it would be a great weight off my shoulders."

Zelda knew he was lying. But she nodded solemnly, leaned forward and embraced him as tightly as she dared.

"I love you, Papa," she said, softly.

"I love you, dearest," he said.

When at last she pulled away, he looked cheerful.

"Now," he said, "tell me. What will you be doing this week?"

She knew he was changing the subject to limit the pain she felt, and though she was annoyed that he sought to protect her that way still, she actually welcomed the opportunity to stop thinking about death.

"I am going to Termina, for the new opera."

His eyes brightened. "Oh, the opera. Your mother loved the opera." Then, grimacing, he added, "I could never stand it, though. It all sounds like shrill screaming to me."

"I just want to check on our mask collection," Zelda admonished, biting back a smile. "I lent several from our family vault and wanted to see whether they were properly displayed."

"Indeed? How very historian of you," he said.

"I didn't tell you because I know you think my obsession with artifacts is ridiculous," she explained. "But there you have it."

Her father shrugged. "You can thank your mother. I wanted to sell them, you know."

Zelda's outrage must have shown on her face, because he broke out laughing.

"Papa, the worth of those artifacts alone―"

"I know, I know. Well, your mother convinced me not to. She started talking numbers at me, and that was that. I could never win when she talked numbers at me." He frowned, comically. "Nor even can I win when my daughter throws history at me. It appears I am simply defenseless against my beautiful women."

"Your life is greatly enriched by it," Zelda said, firmly, which made him chuckle.

Then, he lapsed into silence, and a great weariness overcame him, seemingly like a weight that rolled over him.

"Zelda," he said, softly, "my dear. I think I should take a nap."

She knew. He could rarely stay alert for long now. She nodded, pressing her lips together. "Of course, Papa." She leaned in and helped him settle comfortably, fluffing his pillows, then pressing a kiss on his forehead.

"You will sign the papers," he asked, weakly, "won't you?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat, averting her eyes to pretend she was busy putting order in the flowers on his bedside table, so he wouldn't see the tears in them. "Of course, Papa."

"Good," he sighed, shutting his eyes. Then, with a breath, "Very good."

He was out like a light within moments, and Zelda turned away, reaching for her coat, burying her face in it.

And sobbed.

The tears flowed freely now, and she knew she looked like a mess, but the sobs wracked her whole body, making her shake. It was all she could do to keep from making any noise.

Sniffing, she reached inside her dress' collar line, her fingers finding the familiar pendant there, and clutching around the heart-shaped ruby tightly. It was a monstrous jewel, and she didn't like having it on display, but it was comforting in a way no other item could be, always warm from resting against her skin, firm and bright. It reminded her of better days, of innocence and books, of sunlight and dandelions, of her father's hands on her waist as he twirled her around, his blues eyes crinkling at the corners.

 _This is a very special gift_ , he'd said, when he'd given it to her. _Because it has already known the kindness of a stranger._

When Zelda had asked him for details, he'd made up a grand story about a thief in the night, a great duel of wills, and, ultimately, the gentle relenting of a young man whose black heart had been changed, for his love of a princess.

 _And that princess_ , he'd always concluded, flicking her nose gently, _is you, my dear_.

It was a fanciful story, and she'd never believed a single word of it, but he'd told it so often that she could recall every bit, every detail, every expression, like any one of the worn, battered, dog-eared books in her library.

Eventually, the tears subsided. They always did. And Zelda sat in silence for over an hour, watching her father sleep, until she felt certain all signs of her sorrow had faded and no one would scrutinize her.

Wearily, she reached for a fountain pen and signed the papers, her neat signature next to her father's messy scrawl.

Then, she slipped on her coat, her hat, and her gloves, and she quietly exited the room.

* * *

 **Dun dun dun dunnn!**

 **Okay, this chapter was a bit sad, but it'll pick up, I promise.**

 **So, let's see. I got a couple of questions since yesterday, so I will address them in no particular order:**

 **Yes, Lyxie is doing well, and she is still a wonderful person whom I adore, as usual. We Skyped today about BotW and we are both psyched!**

 **As for which Bollywood film inspired this fic... oh gosh, you guys. It's so distantly related that you might as well say that they're not related at all. But seriously, if you want to invest three hours watching something that was basically destined for drinking games, it's titled _Dhoom-2_. ****You don't have to watch the first _Dhoom_ movie. The second one stands alone magnificently. There are established rules for a complete experience, though:**

 **1\. Drink when English is butchered (subtitles count too, as do repeated offenses!);  
2\. Drink when anyone looks off into the distance broodingly;  
3\. Drink for every over-the-top stunt involving a vehicle or sporting item (and finish a drink at the jet ski scene, you'll know it when you see it);  
4\. Drink when a costume, dance move or plot point makes you crack up.**

 **Alternately, you can pick any single one of those rules and be completely _wasted_. The movie is a glorious experience that fills me with absolute, cackling joy, and literally everyone who has ever watched it with me has found it hilarious, profoundly dumb, and amazingly entertaining.**

 **But as you will realize watching it, the only resemblance with this fic is, eh, tenuous at best.**

 **Right. Back to writing. Next chapter is one of those I'm really looking forward to.**

 **Let me know if you enjoyed this.**


	4. Termina

**Whee, this one is fun.**

 **I know it's a little late, but I have had one of the worst workdays today... Blegh.**

 **See you down at the bottom.**

* * *

TERMINA

"Be backstage near the end of the intermission," Marilla said to her mirror, her mouth slightly gaping as she applied a third coat of mascara. Her theatre face paint was already so thick it narrowed her otherwise ingénue gaze into eyes better suited to the role of Queen of the Light Realm.

Or, so Link thought, that was the general idea. He'd managed to grab a program off one of the entrance tables, but had barely glimpsed the synopsis.

There was no intimacy in the actors' suite, but nobody paid either of them any heed, especially not the occasional harried stagehands too busy with lighting and costumes to care a whit about Link's unwarranted presence. Certainly, a few of the dancers had eyed him appreciatively, but Marilla Rosa had glared at them and they'd left them alone, miffed. Spring had begun in Termina, and he'd brought no overcoat, which displayed his finely tailored clothes and made him look all the more handsome. Being handsome could be useful. Link had always known he could look good, but the attention he got when he actually _tried_ was flattering, to say the least.

"Here?" He asked, casually. He was dressed to the nines and leaned against a prop, some sort of abstract representation of defeat or depression or sadness, it was hard to tell. He had his hands in his slack pockets, if only to lend himself the presence of someone who belonged. Blending in had always been one of his greatest skills.

Marilla, for her part, was dressed in a slinky white number with white sequins, clearly an artist's rendering of what a Queen of Light should wear, and perhaps more appropriate for a showgirl than for one of the world's greatest opera houses. She snapped her fingers at a passing costumer: "Excuse me," she said, imperiously. "My aura! Where is my aura?"

Her aura, as it happened, was only a thick piece of painted cardboard affixed to the back of her dress. The final effect looked silly in the glare of the bright backstage lights, but Link imagined she would have more flair under stage projectors. Probably.

"Yes," Marilla then answered him, absently, gathering up her long white gloves and slipping them on as familiarly as Link put on his boots. "The key you want is made of brass, and I'll forget my set on my desk of drawers. I always do."

"How inconvenient for you," Link said with false sympathy.

Marilla shot him an irritated glare. "Leave the terrible acting to my sister. And remember, you owe me." She rose theatrically from her vanity and posed. "How do I look?"

"Stunning," Link lied, and she preened.

"I love it when you're honest," she purred, running a finger down his chest.

"I know," Link said, offering her his arm. It had been surprisingly easy to convince the Rosa sisters to pretend he and Dark were their beaux, allowing them to come and go through the backstage of the Opera House with relative freedom for a week now. Even Aryll had agreed it would be best to let it happen. She had instead decided to stay home, working on their next objective. "I'll have the envelope ready for you afterwards."

Marilla paused and turned halfway to examine him. Her eyes ran slowly from his smartly shined leather shoes to the perfect turn of his collar, and she said, with a glitter in her eyes that Link recognized in his gut, "I think I know exactly how I want you to deliver it, too."

"Really?" Link asked, to humour her. "How?"

It had been easy, yes, to convince them to play along. It was becoming a lot more difficult, however, to convince them not to push it. But Link talked himself into being patient.

Tonight was the night. After this, he would never have to put up with her uncomfortable advances again.

Marilla leaned forward and a wave of light, cheap perfume wafted over him. From beneath her lashes and through an impish smile that looked anything but regal, she said, "I think the envelope should be between your teeth, and you should be _naked_."

"I'll keep the suggestion in mind," Link mildly said, and Marilla backed away, stung. She rolled her eyes, and set her bright red lips into a pout.

"You could at least pretend you'll play along. Now we both know it won't happen."

"I'm told I should leave all acting attempts to your sister," Link said, blandly.

"Skies, yes," Marilla said, back to her regular haughtiness. She frowned, then, and said, "I wish you would, though. I can be _fun_. After all, your brother has been having my sister as often as he can, and he even asked _me_ to join in." She leaned forward, all face paint and debatable costume. "Are you _sure_ I can't convince you?"

With barely a hum of acknowledgement, Link shot her a faint smile, which visibly annoyed her.

"Fine then," she said, huffing and pulling away. "That envelope better be thick, since I clearly won't be having the mystery brother for lunch." She grumbled about how she'd have been better off choosing Dark, which Link cheerfully ignored.

They reached stage right.

"I will see you in the morning," Link lied again, as a courtesy. He wouldn't be there in the morning, but explaining that would be a pain.

"I look forward to it," Marilla Rosa said, in her best attempt at behaving like a lady of the world.

Link bowed politely, which delighted her and made a few of the dancers look on with envy, but he did not kiss her: he could smell the sourness of the stage makeup from where he was. Somewhere in stage left, he knew, Judo Rosa and Dark were also about to part ways, and he suspected that Dark was being a bit more demonstrative with his goodbye.

Dark had been obnoxiously happy about meeting the Rosa sisters. Not contortionists, admittedly, but twins, which was close enough. He'd spent the better part of the week trying to get both of them at once, and had been disappointed at every turn. Marilla, it appeared, was determined to get Link.

So much for that. Link left the backstage and slipped through narrow corridors, out into the serving staff's spaces, then into the main lobby of the opera house. The night's event was dramatically called "Night", but really it was just a retelling of a classic legend opposing the Queen of the Light Realm, played by Marilla, and the Queen of the Dark Realm, played by her twin sister.

It looked like it would be absolutely intolerable to listen to.

Rather than seek out his seat, he headed upstairs, into the private lounge. The crush of people was noticeably less up here, and it was here that the real object of his interest lay.

As he walked into the room, a doorman extended a hand and asked for his ticket, which he pulled out of his inner jacket pocket absently. The opera house of Clock Town was old, very old, and had required many renovations. The private lounge was one of the oldest remaining untouched rooms.

As the doorman handed his ticket back to him with a tight smile, Link stepped in and took a moment to look at the ceiling. It was painted to fool the eye into thinking the room stretched all the way to the heavens. Fairies and satyrs shared the space with soft smiles, and vines and flowers grew in an eternal spring that would have smelled sickly sweet.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Link snapped out of his contemplation and turned. The question had come from a woman, and she seemed to be speaking to the Opera House's curator.

Link was not used to seeing women that beautiful, which was why he actually froze on sight. She was stunning, dressed in peach and gold, which only seemed to highlight the soft paleness of her skin and the blonde colour of her hair. She had delicate features, aristocratic and charming all at once, and deep blue eyes that lit up when she smiled. And there would be no mention of her other assets, which her dress tantalizingly enhanced.

"It's a shame the conservation efforts couldn't be made for the whole building," she was saying. "But I'm glad we could at least fund the safekeeping of this room."

Link averted his eyes, his heartbeat loud in his ears. She had funded the room's restoration. A rich girl. Unattainable. Instead of focusing on her, he shook it off and got to work.

He started touring the room. The walls were covered in gold leaf and elaborate wood carvings. Even the plasterwork was impeccable. But Link wasn't there for the décor. The room housed the exhibition for many very old masks.

Every mask was displayed in glass cases around the room, under muted lighting to preserve their vibrant colours. He slowly bypassed masks depicting hares and eagles, ignored the terrifying faces and the mournful ones, and came to stop before the central exhibit. The trek around the room had been slow and arduous, if only to hide his disinterest in anything but this one artifact.

Ganondorf Dragmire wanted Majora's Mask. Now that he saw it, Link was absolutely puzzled. It was a horrible thing to look upon, spiky and cracked, with big yellow eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. It was poor taste, really, and Link had trouble understanding what would compel Dragmire to seek out this one mask, when the ones on each side of it were far more elegant, and probably worth a great deal more. One was covered in pearls and silver thread. It had a beautiful full-moon shape, called the Couples' Mask, so that it could cover a person's entire face, and the other was a Sheikah design, a sharply outlined eye, which was titled the Mask of Truth.

"Choosing your curse?" A voice asked in his ear. It sent a shiver down his spine unlike any he'd ever felt, and when he turned he came face to face with the woman from the entrance, her dress having made almost no noise as she'd approached him.

From up close, her lips looked ripe and soft, so when Link dragged his gaze back to her bright blue eyes, he found himself incapable of mustering the cool detachment he'd used only moments ago with Marilla.

"I'm sorry. My curse?" He echoed, recovering.

"Each one of these masks is cursed," she said with glittering amusement that spoke of her personal opinion on the legend. "This one," she said, nodding to the Mask of Truth, "makes the wearer confront what others actually think of them."

"That can't be so bad," Link said, trying not to let her infectious smile spread to his face. He was here on a job and she was distracting him. And he loved her for it.

"Only if everyone likes you," she said. "But nobody is ever that universally loved."

"Maybe I can be the exception," Link joked.

The corners of her eyes crinkled with contained laughter, her pink lips stretching into an actual smile. Skies, she was pretty.

Link cleared his throat and turned to Majora's Mask. "What about this one?"

"Death and torment," she said, dismissively. Link fought the urge to roll his eyes. It figured. "There's always at least one thing cursed for death and torment," she added. "Boring. But this one," she continued, steering him back to the Couples' Mask, "is far more interesting."

"How so?"

"It's said that whoever wears this one at midnight on a full moon will see the love of their life." When she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled in just that way that said her smile was genuine.

Link struggled to stay focused. "That doesn't sound like a curse."

"It can be, if you're already married," she replied, and for a moment her hair caught the light and seemed made of spun gold, and a long golden chain around her neck caught his eye, where it disappeared into her low collar line, in between the hint of two perfect breasts.

Link's throat was dry. "Good thing I'm not married, then," he said, instantly hating himself.

She laughed, which soothed him somewhat. "It's not like anyone is likely to ever wear them again, anyway." She looked almost sad at that, but recovered quickly, and her gaze landed on his face. She seemed to scrutinize him, then, and it made him thoroughly uncomfortable.

Could she see the criminal inside? Did it matter? If Link was honest with himself, his concern with her gaze was less about self-preservation and more about holding on to the magical way she smiled at him.

But her examination didn't seem to turn up anything she disliked, because she said, with a warm smile, "I'm Zelda, by the way. My father paid for the restoration of this room." She paused. "Well, I convinced him to." She shrugged, and under the chandelier, her pale shoulder looked so very soft.

He clenched his fist to keep himself from finding out whether it really was, and forced his attention back on her face. "We have much to thank you for, then."

"I think I'm just a romantic," Zelda said. He liked the sound of her name. It suited her. "And besides," she continued, oblivious to his musings, "the opera house kept bugging Papa for donations. We simply had to concede."

"I'm glad you did," Link said. Ganondorf Dragmire weighed on his mind heavily. He wanted to confess. He wanted to scream he was guilty before it was too late. Instead, he added, "Some of these masks are a pleasure to see."

"Not all of them," Zelda said, wryly.

She was about to say more when three thumps sounded in the room. Link turned to look at the doorman. Already? The play was about to start. And it was unfortunately time to go.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, reluctantly, "I should regain my seat for the curtain rise." He hesitated, feeling absolutely no desire to leave her. "It was a pleasure meeting you," he finally added.

"No, please. The pleasure was all mine," Zelda said with a sweet smile that made his insides melt. "I should go, too." She shot him a look that was all consideration and reached into his ego. "Perhaps I will see you after the show?" Her brow was raised, and Link was sure she was flirting.

He nodded, mouth dry. He watched her walk away, then followed a minute later, his stomach filled with lead. He had to force himself to remember that he wouldn't stick around long enough to see the end of the show, and he'd never see her again. In that moment, he hated everything about his life. Ganondorf Dragmire, Majora's Mask, his shiny shoes.

The orchestra had just finished winding down from tuning when he found Dark in one of their seats.

"Dark."

"There you are," Dark said, softly. "I was looking all over for you."

"I was upstairs," Link explained. "Meeting one of the donators to the Opera. She was really kind."

Dark shot him a wary look. "I know how you feel, but we can't have a conscience crisis at this stage." He leaned in, and hissed, "This is our lives we're talking about. We can't back down now."

"I know," Link said, irritated. "I'm not a child."

"So," Dark asked, relaxing as the lights dimmed. "Any rich heiresses?"

He had no idea. "I thought you hadn't moved on from the twins yet," Link wryly said.

"Sure, but it's not like I'm married to them."

That makes two of us, Link thought morosely. For a moment he could see Zelda's bright smile in his mind's eye and he hated how awestruck he'd sounded. Skies, he'd told her he wasn't married a minute into their conversation. Like an amateur.

And still, she'd flirted with him at the end. He was sure of it.

Slouching in his seat, he leaned his head against the back and let out a pained groan.

"What?" Dark asked.

"I need to get myself a woman," Link said.

He ignored the scandalized look of his neighbour, an elderly woman dressed in far too many feathers for this century.

"Well, you should have had Marilla while you had the chance," Dark reminded him. For a moment Link considered picking Marilla up on her offer after all. She was no Zelda, but she had flair, and style, and legs that she was only too eager to spread.

"I guess," he said, distracted, as the music began with great bombast.

"Now don't cry too hard," Dark said, under his breath. "I hear this one's a tearjerker."

They exchanged a look and snickered, once again eliciting a venomous look from Link's feather-adorned neighbour.

The first act was an elaborate adaptation of the Twilight Legend. Both Rosa sisters appeared a few times, to their great amusement, in dramatic white and black, to torment the obnoxiously muscular male lead with their shrill voices. There were a few confusing bits where the lead would sing his parts with too much style to be comprehensible, and overall, the music sounded ridiculously loud. The lighting, the music and the acting were all highly excessive, which Link assumed was par for the course when you paid a fortune for a seat, but he wasn't sure what any of it did to improve the story.

To distract himself, he started furtively looking around the audience, looking for Zelda. He found her a few minutes later, in one of the boxes. She was primly seated and was watching the play with rapt attention, her lips forming the words of each song.

Link ended up watching her far more than the play. She was absurdly pretty, and her eyes crinkled with delight when one of the Rosa sisters ― either Marilla or Judo, he wasn't listening closely― hit the high note in just the right way.

The first act concluded on a dramatic confrontation between the two sisters. It wasn't clear why, but Link had honestly stopped paying attention almost entirely, so his failing comprehension was probably his own fault. At any rate, the shouting hero character dragged Marilla's unconscious form off the stage, and the curtain closed for intermission, thank the skies.

"I have to wait until after the intermission to get the key."

"I will get the car," Dark said, softly. He stood and walked out with the many other men who were eager for a smoke in one of the salons.

Link, for his part, had ten minutes to go. With a nod to his neighbour, he stood and left the row of seats. It would be less suspicious to leave now than to leave right as the curtain opened again. He walked at a leisurely pace, pretending to stretch his legs. On the way out into the lobby he saw Zelda chatting animatedly with men who appeared to be her father's friends, but he ducked out of sight before she could notice him.

Heart beating, he slipped through the crowd and towards the service hallway. He wasn't sure why his heartbeat was so swift. This wouldn't be a difficult theft. He had done much worse and with far less support.

In the crystal of the chandeliers and the glow of the lobby, Zelda had looked beautiful. Her dress gathered on her hips and fell in a waterfall of silk, exposing just enough of her back to make him want…

Link paused in the hallway, adjusting to the dimmer lights. Enough. Enough, dammit. Fixing his white tie, he continued on his way.

The key was exactly where Marilla had said it would be, easily exchanged for an envelope. And the service doors he'd tested earlier in the week were all unlocked, as usual, or easy to unlock. When all was said and done, as the show was about to resume, he stood before Majora's Mask's glass case, in the empty lounge. The music began to trumpet again in the theater below, warning that the intermission was over. He slid the pane open. The greased hinges never made a peep.

From within his jacket, he unfolded a carry bag and slipped Majora's Mask in, carefully. There. Now all he had to do was get out.

"What are you doing?"

The voice of an usher stunned Link. He hadn't heard anyone―

Behind him, an usher was rushing forward, demanding that he identify himself. Instinctively, Link grabbed the Couples' Mask and slipped it on, so that it covered his entire face.

"Hey!"

Instinct took over. With a single movement, Link turned around and kicked the usher behind the knees just as he was reaching for his jacket. The man crumpled to the ground and Link punched him in the temple. His assailant fell to the carpet with a painful groan, and Link darted. He wouldn't get more than a few seconds of reprieve.

He ran, out onto the balcony and down the flights of stairs, shoving past bemused socialites and pushing his way out of the opera house, just as the entire building was being alerted to his presence.

"Wait!"

Zelda's voice broke through his urgency with the force of an explosion. He almost turned, instinctively―

No! She would recognize him! She would recognize his tie, his suit, his hair… She would _know_. He stopped himself, getting barely a glimpse of her confused expression, made sure the Couples' Mask was securely placed on his face, and ran out the great front doors.

Behind him, half a dozen ushers sprinted to catch him, but he made it to Dark's unmarked car before they could ever hope to reach him. The car's wheels squealed as it drove off, hiccuping on the cobblestones, and the staff stood cursing on the curb, helpless.

Over their shoulders, in the massive doorway of the Clock Town Opera House, backlit by crystal chandeliers, Zelda's evening dress swayed with every step she took, her lips parted breathlessly, her hair a perfect wave of motion. Dark swerved to catch a turn, and she was out of sight. Link, breathless in the Couple's Mask, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it.

Somewhere in the city, midnight tolled. Link removed the mask to better catch his breath and watched how the full moon reflected on the Clock Town Canal.

"Close call, huh?" Dark said. "We'll have to do better, next time."

"Yeah," Link said, looking down at the Couples' Mask with a strange feeling in his heart.

He was a monster and a thief and a killjoy, and somehow, he'd still managed to feel thunderstruck.

By the time the opera house management had called the constables, Link and Dark were already on their way back to Hyrule, leaving behind Clock Town, Termina, and a beautiful woman Link would kick himself about for months, if not years, to come.

* * *

 **YES. Gosh, I love doing this stuff. Did you catch it? Did you? I was completely not subtle about it.**

 **Anyway. I imagine you've started noticing that I'm bouncing around a lot in various locations. Every chapter (except prologue and epilogue) will be happening in a different province/country, which is my way of celebrating all the locations we've visited in the franchise so far. Yes, from chapter to chapter, it might be a bit whiplash-y. I'm trying to flesh out every region in the background of the main story. It might not work as a final result, which is exactly why I usually wait until my stories are complete before I begin to post: so I can go back and remove gimmicks that don't work. But for now, you'll have to see things unfold as they will, and forgive me for literally posting as I write.**

 **Tomorrow's chapter takes us to Twilight. In the meantime, l** **et me know what you think.**


	5. Twilight

**Man, it was like the world came together and conspired against having me post this on time today. Work just keeps pouring in, like some sort of ceaseless avalanche. I have 14,000 words to translate and deliver by Thursday morning, which is like a really retarded amount, in case you'd like to know (average is typically 3,000 words/day, so by doing 6,000 a day you can be sure I'll be wiped out by the time I'm done). And then I have to proofread my fiancé's midterm, because he's convinced that he's terrible even though he's really not. And there's of course the usual sleep and eat, somewhere in there.**

 **BUT I MADE IT, YOU GUYS. LOOK!**

* * *

TWILIGHT

"Stop fidgeting," Aryll said, as Link shifted his weight again. "I'll never get your tie straight like this."

She was wearing a dress that all the girls seemed to fancy, with enough sequins to jingle wherever she went, a low waist and a high hem. But Link had once again adopted the fashionable black-tie clothes he'd purchased from the tailor, and he couldn't seem to get his necktie just right.

The car jerked, and Link hit his head on the ceiling.

"Maybe," he said, raising his voice so Dark, in the driver's seat, could hear them, "if Dark didn't drive over _each bleeding pothole_ ―"

"Not my fault," Dark said. "This street is missing half its cobbles."

Nightfall, capital of Twilight, had apparently decided that repairing roads was generally not a priority. Most of the city still relied on horse-drawn carriages or large-wheeled trucks that were not nearly as susceptible to breaking down.

Spring had well and truly arrived, which officially signified the end of the rainy season, and people were everywhere, bartering in stalls and walking across the street with little to no concern for oncoming traffic, which made their progression through the city agonizingly slow.

"There," Aryll said, with a last tug on Link's necktie. "That should do it. You look almost presentable." She smiled at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"So," he said. "Tell me about these Fused Shadows."

"So ominous," Dark said, from the driver's seat, following up with a cuss as an old lady passed right in front of him, forcing him to brake. They all jerked forward. "Skies! Sorry… old lady with a death wish."

"Right," Aryll said, recovering and reaching into her clutch. "The Fused Shadows are an ancient Twili artifact. Apparently used during rituals―"

"Fertility rituals?" Dark interrupted, looking at her in the rear view mirror.

"Exorcisms," Aryll replied, deadpan. Link snorted in laughter.

"Worth a try," Dark grumbled.

"Anyway, they were seized from the tomb of an ancient Twili queen, out in the desert, by a colonial expedition, this last century. It appears that Lionel Nohansen is trying to make amends for holding on to a precious Twili historical artifact, which he inherited, and it will be donated tonight at a Charity for Nightfall Children."

Link groaned. "We're stealing from a _charity_?"

"Well," Aryll said, uncomfortable, "not technically. We're stealing from the Twilight Historical Society, which is organizing the Charity."

"Skies dammit," Dark muttered, echoing what they all thought.

"I can't believe this," Link said. Then, inhaling deeply, he remembered that he didn't have a choice. "Right, let's carry on. What's our plan of ingress?"

Aryll pulled out a set of tickets. "I bought these from Malo. I have no idea where he got them, and I think it's best that we don't ask."

Link peered at the tickets. "So, we all enter the event?"

"We need at least one person inside to draw everyone's attention while another takes the Shadows."

"Draw attention?" Dark asked. He loved attention.

"Yes," Aryll said. "I'm thinking we could make an announcement for a substantial donation."

"How substantial?" Link asked.

"All that we're going to get in exchange for the Fused Shadows?" Aryll tentatively said, flinching a little.

She clearly expected them to disagree. But Link sat back, looking at his little sister, feeling an odd mix of pride and shame. Pride, because the sister he and Dark had raised was choosing to be a good person, and shame, because the choice was automatically self-sacrificing, and he felt he had put her in that situation.

"I like it," Dark said, when Link reached out and grabbed his sister's hand, squeezing. "Fifty thousand rupees should attract enough attention."

"I agree, and I think it's only fair," Link said.

Aryll smiled. "In that case, all that remains is to decide who will be taking the tickets, and who will be doing the stealing."

"Well, you're definitely not," Link said, plucking the extra tickets out of her hands. "There's no way we're letting you pull this one. Dark? Are you going visible or invisible?"

Dark shrugged. "You did the last one. I can do this." He turned the wheel and pulled into the inner courtyard of the Twilight Historical Society Museum. Ahead of them, a lineup of cars was crawling, each taking their turn to unload passengers. "I'll drop you off, and enter separately."

Link nodded. When their turn came, he stepped out of the car and helped Aryll out, too. Then, shutting the door, he rapped twice on the car's roof, signaling to Dark that he could go, and escorted Aryll towards the steps.

"This is nice," Aryll said, breathing in deep. "It's so warm today."

Twilight was generally comprised of sandy deserts, and the heat, even on a 3rd of Triember, was beginning to be felt, without being stifling. Link would have shuddered in the middle of summer, no doubt, but for now he didn't miss the Ordon snows, which had seemingly melted only a couple of weeks before.

"Good afternoon," the man at the door said, extending a white gloved hand to take the tickets in Aryll's hand. After a cursory check, he inclined his head slightly. "Please step inside."

The Twilight Historical Society Museum was vast and renowned around the world for the size of its antique collection. Even in the foyer, a massive statue of an old Twili king rose to the ceiling. On both sides, galleries extended, full to the brim with recovered frescoes, broken pottery, ancient weapons and even a few Twili mummies.

The Charity's guests, however, were not herded through the entire permanent collection. Instead, they were ushered into a single, large hall, where dozens of selected artifacts were on display. A large tallying blackboard at the end of the room was filling up with donator names. Next to it, the head curator, it seemed: a tall, beautiful Twili woman, her skin so pale it seemed almost blue, and her hair bright red and orange, with a long, slinky black dress that ran low enough on the back to display the dimples above her hips.

Dark would have loved her, Link considered.

The event was meant to empty pockets: for a minimum donation, prizes were being distributed, and the larger donations allowed a donator to take one of the Museum's selected artifact home, on loan, with a designated curator to watch over it for the duration of the loan.

Link was bemused at the lengths rich people went for bragging rights.

"I wish we could visit the entire thing," Aryll said. "It's like a treasure trove."

"If we make it through the next couple of months undiscovered," Link said, as they followed the crowd around the room, "we'll come back."

Aryll seemed utterly delighted. "Oh, look! I think that's a Sol," she exclaimed, releasing his arm and hopping forward to a large glass case containing an intricate sphere that shone brightly. For a moment, Link's heart swelled to see her like that. She had never had much opportunity to display childish wonder.

A light tap on his shoulder. Link turned his head and watched as Dark strode past him without a word, nodding politely. He was in. Good.

"Aryll," Link called, and she returned to his side. "Let's go," he said, softly. "Dark needs to know what we'll be taking." In the crush of the crowd, there was no way to see everything at a glance.

Aryll nodded. She took his arm, and together, they began ambling around the room, pausing occasionally to observe various artifacts. Aryll was far better at socializing than Link, and she spent a part of their time charming other visitors and attendees. She had a sunny disposition, which drew the attention of everyone she crossed.

Link let her take the stage, and hung back to avoid impeding her. She was a natural.

"In fact," one of the men said, delighted to have found a pretty, young thing to educate, "half of the Twili practices are related, in some way, to death."

Aryll nodded, eyes wide. "So I've heard. There was an object―" She feigned a lapse in memory. "I forget what it was called. I saw they wore it during _exorcisms_."

"You mean the Fused Shadows." It was the Twili woman, tall and spectacular. She walked forward, her smile full of secrets. No doubt she cultivated the mystery. With one elegant movement, she motioned to a strange artifact, dark and oddly designed, that seemed like a partial mask… or upper body armour.

"Yes," Aryll said, brightening. "That's the one!"

"Who is _that_?" Dark's voice hissed in Link's ear, and Link nearly jumped out of his skin, as the crowd moved towards the Fused Shadows with interest.

"Skies, Dark," he said, "you shouldn't be talking to me."

"That," Dark said, softly, turning his body so he'd seem to be reading an artifact description out loud, instead of talking to Link, "is the most attractive lady on the floor."

Link was inclined to agree, but he tried very hard not to roll his eyes. "You need to focus," he said, softly, pretending to rub his nose.

"Midna Black," the Twili woman said, extending her hand to Aryll imperiously, her look every bit as regal as a queen, and her eyes ten times shrewder.

"Ka-ching," Dark whispered.

"Aryll Knight," Aryll lied, as easily as breathing. "It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Black."

"Miss Black," Midna Black corrected her, coolly.

"Unmarried," Dark squeaked, biting his lip with delight. "Best day of my life."

"Skies, sands and seas," Link muttered, "you are the worst at this. Stay put." Then, to prevent Dark from risking their operation any further, he walked away, as casually as he dared, and stopped enabling his behaviour. With one half of his attention, he kept an eye on Aryll, who was admiring the Fused Shadows with her requisite naïve wonder. With the other, he considered the few egress routes Dark would be able to choose from. The front door was out of the question, obviously. Fortunately, a side door by the tallying board seemed to lead into other galleries, and there was a narrow staircase in the far corner of the room, which most likely led to a second floor. Second floors always had big, breakable windows, if a final recourse required it.

He was about to finish his tour of the room when he bumped into a smaller form. Instinctively, he reached out to grab the person and stabilize her.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking―"

He looked right into a pair of startling blue eyes, and his heart stopped.

Zelda.

She was peering at him in surprise.

Panic suddenly pierced his gut. Oh no. She knew. She had to.

But instead, she smiled in wonder.

"It's you!" She softly exclaimed. "I was just― Isn't that strange? I was just thinking… about you." This last part, she almost mumbled, trailing off and observing him with genuine... Well, Link wasn't sure what it was, but it definitely pulled at him.

"Really?" Link asked, confused. Had she not recognized him? He wondered. Had the Couples' Mask worked to hide his identity?

She nodded slowly, pulling away to take him all in. Despite himself, he did the same. She wasn't wearing her ball gown anymore, but rather a deep red dress that cut off at the knee and softened her curves, making her look like a cross between a business woman and an heiress. Her golden hair was brushed sideways, into a thick, artfully messy braid, from which several strands escaped and framed her face. He almost wanted to reach in and untangle it, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Link would have sighed in defeat. Yep. Still ridiculously beautiful.

"Yes," she said, finally. Her cheeks flushed from the heat. "I mean, I was thinking about that night, in Clock Town." He was panicking. What could he say? But before he could formulate some excuse, she added, "Listen, I am so sorry that I didn't wait around to talk to you. I really did want to, you know. Only, there was the theft, you remember?"

"I do," Link replied, his throat dry. How could he forget?

"But what incredible luck that you're here," she said, smiling. "Now I can finally know your name."

Link cleared his throat, and accepted that he would have to lie. "Link. Link Knight. I'm here with my―" He pointed in the general direction of his sister, who was now attracting all the attention she could. "My sister."

"Ah," Zelda said, looking a little disappointed. "She seems to be enjoying her history a little more than you were."

"I like history," Link hastened to explain. "I do. Only, I don't recall its details very well. Aryll, well, she has a better memory."

Zelda shook her head, and her beautiful hair swayed, making Link feel weak inside. "You mustn't approach history like a series of facts," she admonished. Looping her arm in his without waiting for his permission, she pulled him away, to another glass casing that contained an old, blackened sword. "You must think of it like a story."

"A story," Link echoed, dumbly, too mesmerized by the soft scent of her to think clearly.

"Yes," Zelda insisted. "History is just that. _Sure_ ," she conceded, looking skyward, "the dates _sometimes_ matter, but in the end, it's nothing but a simple sequence of events."

"Like a legend," Link said, peering at a crest depicting the holy Triforce, up on the wall.

Zelda's eyes shone brightly in pleasure. "Exactly." She leaned forward, and Link was sure he could see mischief in her eyes, which had a powerful effect on his gut. "Don't worry, we'll make a historian of you yet."

She could make him into whatever she wanted, Link reflected. He wouldn't object.

"Well," she said, pulling away and peering at him with interest, "what is it that brings a man such as yourself to Twilight?"

"I―"

A great clamour rose up, and Link turned to look at his sister. She was in the circle of her newfound admirers, some of whom were clapping. Aryll broke through the crowd to reach her brother, and she said, to the group that followed, "And the one who will sign the cheque is my beloved, darling, generous brother."

A new round of applause and laughter erupted. Next to him, Zelda's brows had gone up in mild amusement, but Link had to focus. Dark was slowly approaching the Fused Shadows.

"Will I?" Link said, falling into his role and humouring his sister.

"Don't be silly," Aryll said, as laughter bubbled around them and Dark unlatched the glass door to the Fused Shadows' case. "Of course you will. Pretty, pretty please?"

"I buy her dresses and shoes and hats, and now this?" Link said, for the benefit of the crowd. He reached into his coat pocket, and the group around them cheered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dark slip the Fused Shadow off its pedestal and into a nearby crate, shutting it closed, then picking it up.

Pulling out his new cheque book, Link made a great show of teasing his sister about the amount, and she made a great show of having him add three more zeroes, regaling the audience with their extravagance, even as Dark strode out the side door with the crate, pretending to be part of the Museum staff. So far, so good.

Link, for his part, felt great about signing the cheque. On the one hand, it was like Ganondorf Dragmire himself was purchasing his targets, and on the other hand, Zelda's expression of mute admiration warmed the cockles of his heart.

"Fifty thousand," he professed, at last, as though the gesture greatly pained him. "And you want to spend it all in one place."

Aryll rose up on her toes and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek, plucked the signed cheque out of his hand, and waved it triumphantly, to a new round of cheers and applause.

"That was generous," Zelda said, understating the obvious, as the group marched Aryll up to the tallying board and presented Link's gift with great pomp.

"I can never say no to her," Link explained, softly, telling the truth. Then, remembering Zelda, he turned, startled, and stammered, "I mean, er, it's just― well― She's all I have." With Dark.

Zelda's brows went up, the surprise quickly turning to sympathy. "I'm sorry. Both your parents?"

"We were children," Link assured her. "It's been two decades. And we've done well in the meantime." Mostly. Again, the lie felt like a weight.

"I know how that feels," Zelda said, gently. "My mother has been gone, oh…" she inhaled, thinking. "Fifteen years now."

"I'm sorry," Link said, solemnly, and he meant it.

She peered at him with an undecipherable look, a look that made him want to loosen his tie, or find a cold basin of water. Then, at length, she sighed in a way that made her lovely chest rise and fall in the most tempting way, and said, mournfully, "Oh, Mr. Link Knight. You are going to be trouble."

Something stirred inside him. A temptation. A flickering hope. Mustering what little courage and charm he could, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"Look!" The alarmed cry suddenly sounded. "The Fused Shadows! They're gone!"

This seemed to make Zelda react disproportionately. She jumped, and turned suddenly to the pedestal from which Dark had removed the artifact only minutes ago, and her hand went up to her lips.

"Oh... No," she gasped.

"What's going on?" Link asked, knowing, the minute the words were out of his mouth, that he would regret hearing the answer. Because a sudden, sinking feeling formed in his stomach.

"That―" She shook her head, speechless, at the commotion that now surrounded the pedestal, even as Aryll joined them with a pretense that she was both worried and confused. "That artifact belonged to my father. We were donating it to the Museum _today_."

Link's heart sank, and Aryll froze for an imperceptible second.

Oh.

Dammit.

"Your father?" He croaked, knowing he looked a little green.

"Yes, Lionel Nohansen Harkinian," Zelda said, pale, and Link fought against the wave of nausea that seized him. She shook her head in absolute dismay. "This is the second artifact someone has stolen from us this year. _Why_?"

Because, Link thought, he was destined to be alone forever, wallowing in self-hatred. That was why. Clearly.

"I don't see Miss Black," Aryll said, peering around the room, her brow furrowed. She was more natural at acting than any of them, but Link thought she was issuing a warning.

"I should find her," Zelda said, distraught. "I refuse to believe I've just lost another of one of Papa's heirlooms."

She hurried away, paused, then turned back to them, her blue eyes filled with worry.

"Mr. Knight," she said, "I―"

"Go," he said, solemnly, trying to hide his own crushing disappointment at his fortunes. "You have more important things to worry about."

She looked torn, which properly reflected how Link felt at any given time of any given day, and then pushed through the crowd, and he lost sight of her.

Probably forever, he supposed, as Aryll looped her arm in his, sequins whispering. "Link," she said, her voice managing to be both a warning and a question.

"Don't say it," he grumbled, as Museum curators began to warn guests that they would have to submit to a cursory inspection before they left. "I know."

"Good," Aryll whispered. "But for what it's worth," she squeezed his arm, sullenly, "I'm sorry."

* * *

 **(Lyx, I did the thing! God, I hope you caught it, because if not I'm going to have to plug some other Dhoom-2 nonsense reference and it won't be nearly this subtle. Although it might be unintentionally hilarious, like everything in that movie.)**

 **I know I must have mentioned this in another story, but seriously, I love putting Link and Zelda through the wringer. They are so despicably cute when they're tormented. It makes the resolution so much sweeter, too. Gives them something to work at.**

 **And oh man, can you imagine what it'd be like if Zelda figured it out? Full metal anguish! Fun!**

 **Alright, I should really get back to working on the next chapter.** **Tomorrow, we're going to the Waker islands and a bit of summertime.**

 **You still following along? Let me know what you think.**


	6. Waker

**Today's chapter very nearly didn't happen, and I still don't know if I'll be able to pull off tomorrow's, because what small headway I made over the weekend was just obliterated yesterday and today.**

 **... Eh, who needs sleep? I'll get right on it.**

* * *

WAKER

"Apparently," Ganondorf Dragmire said, lifting the Wind Baton in his hand up to the sunlight with sly satisfaction, "you aren't as incompetent as you claimed."

They stood in the sharp, hot daylight of the Waker archipelago, the ocean breeze blowing across Ganondorf Dragmire's terrace and carrying with it the smell of brine, salt and heated rock. Palm trees swayed and gulls cried, and along the coast, Link could see plenty of colourful houses rising against the island's hill. The sea was still too cool from winter to bathe in, but dozens of pleasure boats were out on the water, enjoying the clement weather.

Coming here had taken two days by ship, and they'd rented a small house to stay and work in until their heist, which they'd carried out only yesterday.

Sadly, Ganondorf Dragmire had sent word that he wanted a delivery in person this time, which had bothered Link a great deal. Aryll and Dark had debated for a long time whether it was a good idea for him to go alone, until Link had simply argued that if Dragmire intended them harm, they would be unable to stop him, even if the three of them were there.

It would have been stupid to risk all their lives, so Link had gone alone.

The house was massive and heavily guarded. Link had been searched on his way in. Otherwise, he'd caught himself wondering what he could pilfer from here in order to get even. Surprisingly, there was little of worth here, and Link speculated that most of the precious items Ganondorf Dragmire owned were being held, instead, in his Gerudo Valley home, back in Hyrule.

He had never visited it, even back in the days where he had wanted to work for Dragmire, but he supposed it was even larger than this. And undoubtedly better guarded.

"We make do," Link said blandly, refusing to rise to the bait.

But every time he saw the Baton twirl in Ganondorf Dragmire's hand, he wanted to lunge for the man's throat and tear out his windpipe.

"So how did you do it?" Dragmire asked, setting the Baton down on his desk, leaning back and letting a maid pour him some lemonade.

The Baton was an old thing, with a shine to it that gleamed white. The legends said it could control the winds, but Aryll's close examination confirmed it was nothing more than a regular, pretty stick. She had managed to craft a new one that could serve as a passable double. When the time to swap out the fake with the real one inside Waker's National Exhibition had come, her fake had fooled people for several days. Aryll's artistic talent was an unexpected boon.

And now, the true Wind Baton sat on Ganondorf Dragmire's desk. A travesty.

Link took a deep breath. "Never mind how we did it. You have it now. I'll be taking our payment."

Ganondorf's laugh was a rumble, ominous and unpleasant. "Of course, not to worry."

"Good." Link turned to go. He didn't like spending any more time in Dragmire's company than he strictly had to.

"There's only one thing," Dragmire said.

Link paused. "What?"

"Are you purposely taking your time on these assignments?" Ganondorf asked, and suddenly, Link could feel the insanity creeping into his voice. Turning back to look at the politician, Link saw that Dragmire hadn't moved, yet he now exuded something raw and furious, barely contained.

"I'm sorry?"

Ganondorf Dragmire stood suddenly, knocking over his chair and startling Link. Slowly, he stepped around his table and went to his balcony, his glass of lemonade in hand.

"I gave you this assignment in the middle of winter, and it is now almost full-blown summer. I recall that you used to be quicker."

"The marks used to be easier," Link carefully said, tense down to his marrow.

Ganondorf Dragmire said nothing. He said nothing for a long enough time that Link wondered whether or not he was dismissed.

Then, without warning, Dragmire turned on his heel, and hurled his glass of lemonade at Link, barely missing his head. The glass shattered on the flagstones behind Link, some pieces large enough to cut skin.

"GET ME MY SKIES-DAMNED ARTIFACTS," Ganondorf Dragmire hollered, his face distorted with rage.

Link did everything he could to keep his cool, though he wanted nothing more than to answer with equal rage, to climb over the damned table, wrap his hands around Dragmire's neck, and carve his eyes out. "We're working on it."

Ganondorf was breathing hard, his eyes wild. He seized one of the chairs, and threw it over the balcony. It tumbled into the bushes below, and a maid shrieked.

"My patience has its limits," he growled, stating the obvious.

Link scowled. "As does mine."

For a tense moment, hard blue eyes stared straight into furious golden ones across the terrace. Then, Ganondorf Dragmire's posture relaxed, and he poured himself a new glass of lemonade, regaining his composure.

"Make sure you don't run out of time," he said. Then, dismissively, "Onox has your envelope."

Link, for his part, didn't relax. "Fine."

"And give my best to your sister," Ganondorf Dragmire snarled, raising his glass ironically.

That sent a shiver of hate up Link's spine. For a moment, he could only see red. He faltered in the doorway, his whole body tense. He could sense Ganondorf Dragmire waiting, watching, and with him, five of his guards, and Byrne. Too risky.

No. He couldn't give him the satisfaction of reacting with anger.

"I won't," he said instead, harnessing every ounce of patience and calm he still had for one last push of impassivity. Then, with a thin smile over his shoulder, he said, "She's too young for you."

Ganondorf Dragmire shrugged.

Link forced himself to leave, stiffly.

Onox barely glanced at him when Link came around to the front door. He handed him a brown envelope, but otherwise didn't bother to spare him more than a glance. Maybe he had been instructed to treat him poorly. Link wasn't sure, and after careful thought, found it didn't matter and he didn't care. He took the envelope and walked out.

As he stepped out onto the street, he was once again out in the free air, and relief overcame him. Clutching the envelope tighter, he headed back to the center of town.

Again, his thoughts went to Zelda. Zelda Nohansen Harkinian. No amount of busywork or drink had managed to make him forget her. Not for a month. His guilt kept him awake for hours every night and ate at him during the day.

Aryll had tried to make him feel better. The Twilight Charity turned out to be a resounding success, if the papers could be believed. Its reprise date had been flooded with even more generous visitors, all of which were eager to hear more about an artifact that was no longer even on the premises, simply because its theft made the damn thing famous.

But that did not make Zelda's pain less, Link had considered, and Aryll had frowned sadly and gone back to working on her Wind Baton replica, with only a warning about letting his conscience getting in the way of their survival.

It was hopeless. He thought about Zelda all the time. He could almost see her right now, in his mind's eye, her eyes as blue as the sea, her hair of spun gold, her lips pink and perfect.

If he focused, Link considered, walking down the steps back to the village's harbour, in narrow streets full of blooming flowers and hot stones, amid villas and modest stone houses, he could almost picture her here, with him, wearing a long summer dress that barely covered her back, a large straw hat over her hair, her arms and shoulders uncovered, her skin peach and pink and soft―

Blinking, he paused.

Ahead of him, on the harbour promenade, he could have sworn he had seen her. A young woman was walking, her sundress billowing in the wind, her shoes perfectly dainty, and then she turned her face to look up at the village and he almost choked.

"Zelda?" He called, before he could stop himself.

Startled, she paused, then turned to look around. Mustering up his courage, Link threw caution to the wind and hurried to catch up with her.

It was worth it. On recognizing him, she shot him a smile that could have eclipsed the Waker sun.

"Link!" She reached out to him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it warmly. "Skies, I didn't think I'd see you here."

"We're on vacation," Link said, lying again. He was making a bad habit of that. Her touch did things to him. "What about you?"

Zelda's expression faltered, and let go. "Oh. I… Well, my father is sick, and the doctors in Snowpeak simply… He's getting much worse." Link noticed the dark circles under her eyes, then, and realized she had much more weighing on her mind than he had thought. "They said he needs sunlight. And that if sunlight doesn't do the trick…"

Her cheeks were hollower, and she looked small, fragile, nothing like the perfectly alluring woman from the Opera, or the friendly historian from the Museum a little over a month ago. Link hated to see it.

"Don't they know what ails him?" Link asked, as they resumed her walk, at a leisurely pace.

"No one can tell. There are days he seems perfectly fine, and on the road to recovery, and then the next, he can barely summon any strength." She looked utterly miserable. "I don't know what to do."

Link offered her his arm, and she took it, gratefully.

She eyed him from below the brim of her hat. "You seem to walk in on my life when I am least able to stay," she said, summoning a smile that wanted to tease.

"I assure you," Link said, choosing to tell the truth, "I wish things had been different." That was bold. Even he thought so, with surprise. Forging on, he added, before his courage ran out, "If I could, I would offer to take you out dancing before life interferes again."

Oh, no. What was he doing? Skies, no! Disaster.

He could almost hear Aryll berating him, could almost see Dark eyeing him with disapproval. For half a heartbeat, he hoped he had been so forward that Zelda would refuse him outright and solve his dilemma for him.

But she answered his prayers instead. "I think I would love that."

He could have kissed her right then. Elation and relief ―mixed with the usual self-loathing for dismissing his siblings so stupidly― flooded him. "Really?"

"Of course," Zelda said. "My father wants me to pretend I have a social life, and stepping out for a few hours won't hurt. Aveil will keep an eye on him. She's his nurse," she explained.

Link was so pleased, he smiled broadly. Zelda blinked at him, apparently confused by his delight, and then smiled, contagiously.

"Goodness," she said, looking away, and Link observed the pink on her cheeks with interest, "you should watch how you use that smile, Mr. Knight. A girl might forget herself."

"Good," Link said, too cheerful to care that she was complimenting a man who essentially did not really exist. If he could only pretend a few hours more… Who would it hurt?

Right? It wasn't like it could go on forever. Although…

Although he wanted it to. Skies, he wanted it.

They arrived in front of the Grand Windmill Hotel, and Zelda turned to face him.

"This is my stop," she said, eyes bright. Skies, she was beautiful. "I will be waiting here at seven tonight."

"I'll be there," he promised, and then he watched her back away, onto the luxurious Hotel's red carpet, then she turned on her heel, her dress moving around her legs, and she thanked a bellhop for opening the door.

Then she was gone.

Link struggled to contain his cheer. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strode away, whistling.

About five steps in, he faltered. What if she heard about how the Wind Baton had been replaced?

No. He shook it off. He couldn't think about that right now. If necessary, he'd keep her mind completely busy. She would have no time to hear anything unpleasant.

"You look cheerful," Aryll said, when he returned, half an hour later. "What on earth did Dragmire say to you?"

Dark peered around the corner of the kitchen, curious. Link removed his vest and thought quickly.

"Nothing," he said, smiling. "And bless the skies for that. He paid us." He handed the envelope in his pocket to Aryll, who immediately set about counting. "But otherwise, things went as well as they could. Considering."

Dark raised a brow, but Aryll smiled at him, relieved.

It was time to clean up, Link considered. He had a few nice-looking tailored clothes that would be alright for an evening of drinks―

Dark grabbed his collar and pulled him down the hallway, away from Aryll, and pushed him into the room they shared, shutting the door behind them.

"Speak," he said, his voice so low it sounded like a growl.

"What?" Link squeaked. "What is wrong with you?"

"I saw Ganondorf Dragmire's fit," Dark said. "I was watching the house. I wanted to make sure you'd come out alright. Why did you lie to Aryll?"

Link was strangely touched, but otherwise annoyed. "It's none of either of your businesses, for once."

Dark let go, and his eyes bulged a little. "A woman?"

Skies, he was like a bloodhound. How in seas, sands and skies had he figured it out?

"What?" Link said, ineffectually. "Seas, Dark, no―"

"It _is_ a woman," Dark said, his expression a comical combination of shock, awe and disgust. " _You_?"

"Now that's just offensive," Link said, turning away and unbuttoning his cuffs.

"No, you're right," Dark said, letting himself fall to his bed in absolute amazement. "I'm sorry. Now why didn't you mention her?"

"Because," Link continued, "it really isn't a big deal."

Dark bounced on the bed. "Oh, _sands_ , you _like_ her." He looked like a cat in cream. "What's her name? Can I meet her? Does she know you're the less handsome brother?" He dodged Link's thrown shirt and shoes. "She doesn't!" He frowned. "You haven't told her about me, have you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Link warned, removing his undershirt and plunging his hands into the washbasin. Then, he dunked his face in, and pulled it out, inhaling.

Behind him, still sitting on the bed, Dark was shaking his head, if his reflection in the mirror could be trusted.

"You know, I bet it's because you know she'd pick me instead."

If she had truly known either of them, Link considered, she'd actually call the constables.

"Look," Link said, turning as he wiped his face with a cloth, "I do like her. But I won't be seeing her again, most likely. Just… don't tell Aryll, alright?"

"Right," Dark said, rolling his eyes. "Because she still thinks her brothers are chaste angels."

"Dark."

"I won't," his brother said, scowling. "Seas, you're no fun."

Zelda would disagree, Link thought. He arrived at the front of the hotel at seven, just as the sun was on the horizon, casting a warm glow on the island. He was dressed as well as he could be, and he'd even shined his shoes a little extra, and fixed his hair, which was a constant mess. Dark had offered to take Aryll out to the theatre, and Link had thanked him for it with a look.

"Well," a familiar voice said, next to him, "good evening."

He turned, and felt the familiar grip of steel around his heart, dropping it into his gut. She had the habit of cutting off all sensible thought.

"Zelda," he said. "You look…" He shook his head, and looked for his words. "I am very happy to see you," he finally said, swallowing hard.

She posed, girlishly, so that it was difficult not to look at her legs. On top of that, her short, dark blue dress dropped low in the back, revealing a tantalizing expanse of back, and did little better in the front, which did wonders to draw the eye. She was still wearing her golden chain, and it disappeared into a low collar line, between the hinted curve of her lovely breasts―

She seized his arm. "You look quite charming yourself," she said, and now Link was certain she was flirting. She was looking at him with warmth, and her lips looked just so soft… "In fact," she said, "I believe I shall have the most handsome partner tonight. Are you coming?"

Skies, anywhere she wanted.

She dragged him back into the Hotel, where the dance floor was beginning to liven up. Drinks were beginning to pour.

They took a table and ordered the hardest port they had, discussing her hobbies and interests ―history, books and world customs― and discussing his own ―how he enjoyed manual work, and tending to horses. She questioned him on his sister, and they talked of her father. Not the sickly father that slumbered upstairs, but the one she remembered, strong and just.

Eventually, the live band began to play loudly, and Zelda decided it was time to move, since conversation was now almost impossible.

But they didn't need to speak, really. In the middle of a crowded dance floor, it was difficult to execute any particular moves but to dance close together, and that was enough of a stimulating conversation on its own, if anyone had asked Link.

She was warm, and she smelled of something light and comforting and decidedly feminine, a scent that aroused every single primal part of him. And even when he tried to escape, to take a deep breath of fresh air, she dragged him back down into some sort of dark dream every time she touched him.

And she did, often, and carelessly, her fingers running up his arms, her cheek against his shoulder, and sometimes her thighs brushing his. It was as close as one could get with clothes on, a delightful torture of which he didn't tire.

Skies, her breath was beginning to affect him, the way it made her chest rise and fall rhythmically, the way every beat in the music seemed to echo on her skin, and the elegant movement of her arms…

She pulled on him.

"Link," she said. On her lips, his name sounded like an invocation.

He tried to keep his primal instincts in check. "Yes?"

She looked like she was about to say something dire, then, but she caught herself. She flinched, shook it off, and, sheepishly, "I need some air."

Now that he was at it, Link considered, so did he. Because if things continued, he would want to do something stupid, like kiss her. And then he'd be in real trouble.

"Let's go," he said, taking her hand and leading her out.

The sun had set, and the stars were beginning to come out. Without the sun, the breeze was much cooler, and it did wonders to clear his mind.

He placed his jacket on Zelda's shivering shoulders. She thanked him quietly.

Contemplatively, they strode across the almost deserted plaza, up to the edge of the harbour where gentle waves clapped at the stone quays, making moored boats bob up and down softly. Overhead, the sky was expanding, the moon growing bright amidst the stars.

She sat on a bollard, looking at the pink that rapidly faded on the horizon. And she said, "When I was little, my mother told me a story about a boy."

Link sat on the edge of the quay, next to her, and watched the stars overhead.

Zelda continued. "The boy was a fisherman, and he thought that the moon was the largest sunfish in the world. He had sworn to capture it. He would try in vain, every night, to follow the moon's reflection on the water, thinking it would lead him to success. For years on end, he tried, until he was an old man. And one night, he made another attempt, and drowned." Link barked out in laughter, unable to stop himself. She smiled and tightened his jacket around her. "My mother was a pragmatist. She believed stories existed to teach lessons."

"And what was the lesson here?" Link asked, watching Zelda's profile as the moonlight danced on the waves and reflected on her skin, dancing, ephemeral.

Zelda tried not to smile. In a stern voice, one that meant to imitate her mother, she said, "'Don't waste your talents chasing moonlight', she'd say. I refused to listen. My father often sided with me. He'd tell me tall tales all the time."

She reached up absently to touch the chain around her neck, eyes lost on the blue of the sea.

"My mother has been gone a long time," she continued. "And still, every time I see the moonlight on the water, I think of the boy fisherman." She sighed, deeply, then stood.

He stood, too, scrambling to his feet.

And she turned her gaze to him. She had the power to take his breath away, Link realized. Her gaze was earnest, vulnerable, her golden hair silver in the night, her lips barely a blush darker than her windblown cheeks.

"Mr. Knight," she said, "I would very much like to see you again."

Link was at a loss.

He wanted to say yes. Yet he knew the right thing to do was to say no. Now that he sat in the cooling night air, he realized how wrong it had been to lead her on like this. She didn't even know his real name. She didn't even know what he had done.

Stupidly, selfishly, he'd trapped them both in a web of lies from which he was completely unable to escape.

Unless he told her everything, and risked being hated forever.

But then Aryll… And Dark…

Link inhaled. "I want to see you again, too." She smiled at him, utterly destroying what resistance he had. "But," he said, surprising her, "I have something to finish, first."

An idea was forming in his mind. A desperate idea. A foolish idea.

She raised a brow. "What sort of thing?" She leaned forward, teasing, her smile tempting him to kiss her into silence. "A previous engagement?"

"If only," Link grumbled, unable to feel sorrow when she was peering at him that way. "Can you wait a few more months?"

For what? Link's conscience asked. For me to rob you? And then ―maybe, just maybe― make it right again? His mind was screaming, a trumpeting fanfare of fury and mad hope.

She stepped forward, and suddenly she was almost nose to nose with him, quieting the cacophony of his mind.

"I think I can wait a little for you," she said, softly. Then, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her breath warm on his skin, leaving him branded in her name forever. And, softly, "Good night."

"Good night," he echoed, stunned.

She returned his jacket, turned on her heel, and walked away, shooting him a last smile over her bare shoulder.

Well, he flatly figured, as he watched her return to the Hotel across the plaza safely, now he knew he was truly doomed.

His gaze turned to the moon's wavering reflection on the sea, a long, broken beam of pale light.

And, on the hill overlooking the sea, to Ganondorf Dragmire's mansion.

And he pondered.

* * *

 **DID I COP OUT ON THE DETAILS OF HOW EXACTLY THEY TOOK THE WIND BATON?**

 **Yes. Yes, I did. Author's privilege, people!**

 **I think I might have to rework this chapter somewhat when I'm done. There's something off about it that I'm too worn out to pinpoint.**

 **It'll have to wait.** **Tomorrow we're going to Faron, if I manage to write the chapter on time. (I should be able to, I planned it all out...)**


	7. Faron

**See, I thought the last chapter was not quite up to my standards. It will require revision once I finish. But this chapter, on the other hand, is one of my favourites so far.**

 **See you at the bottom.**

* * *

FARON

Zelda curled up in her favourite chair, watching as the moonlight rose over the forest. Her father's country home was comfortable, cozy, and reminded her of happier times. It was full to the brim with relics of by-gone ages, books, paintings and various collections ― old coins, jewellery, weapons, manuscripts…

At some point, Zelda considered, she would have to sort through the entirety of the collection. For now, only the more prominent items were properly on display.

One of them, the Master Sword, was displayed in a crest above the grand foyer, which Zelda had always thought was a little silly. Her family had no crest, let alone one of that pedigree. But she did take pride from being the keeper of such a deeply historic artifact.

Here, in her study, she had lit a small fire in the hearth, hiding out, leaving the rest of the house to reality and illness. Aveil had sternly warned her that moving her father around was making him sicker. And to look at him, it was true.

A rising terror began to warn Zelda that perhaps he wouldn't recover. Perhaps this wasting illness would truly be the end of him.

Rather than reflect on this, Zelda leafed through her telegrams, thinking instead of the other man that occupied her thoughts. She was like a lovesick girl where Link Knight was concerned. She knew every word of their exchanges, finding incredible comfort in them. They were like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak routine.

 _Still no news on thieves. Beginning to think must be someone my father once sentenced. Find myself missing you. You are a fine dancer. Z._

Even in the brevity of missives like telegrams, his warmth managed to seep through:

 _V. busy with errands. Will keep an eye on leads for thieves. Cannot think of dancing with you or will be distracted all day. Have courage. L._

She had felt the urge to respond.

 _Visit me in Faron when you can. Have sent books to keep you busier. Thinking of buying horse to entice you to hurry up. Z._

His reply had made her day:

 _TY for the books. Courier came in today. No horse necessary - kisses from beautiful woman incentive enough. L._

Then, earlier this week, a new message:

 _Heading to Ordon. Hoping to visit Faron next week. Warmest regards. L._

Her heart had leapt in her chest. He had a pull on her that was difficult to describe. From the moment she had seen him, gazing intently at Majora's Mask in obvious confusion at the hideous confection, she had felt a kinship with him.

Aside from the fact that he was one of the more handsome men Zelda had ever encountered, he also seemed humble, and whatever his mysteries, the genuine care in his gaze when he looked at his sister spoke highly of his character.

 _Hoping to visit Faron next week._ She took a pensive sip of her tea. She would let him finish what errands were getting in the way of their courtship. There would be time later to unravel his secrets.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that when the window clicked, she nearly jumped out of her skin. There was no one there. Right? She put her cup of tea down and carefully approached the window.

Another click. A tiny pebble. She peered into the night, down at the street.

He stood below, toying with a few more pebbles, and when her gaze landed on him, he shot her a rugged smile. He had a way of smiling that made parts of her tingle.

She slid the window open. "There is a door," she said, trying to keep from smiling back at him.

He grinned. "You secretly always wanted a man to do this, admit it."

"I'm going back to my book," she said. "The door is around the corner."

"But your father's nurse might open it instead," Link said. "What if your virtue is called into question?" He motioned to the air around him, to the darkness. "A man calling on you at this hour?"

She tried not to burst out laughing. "Because you throwing rocks at my window is so much more proper?"

"Right," Link said, apparently running out of arguments. He approached the wall and grabbed onto the plasterwork. "I'm coming up."

"You'll hurt yourself. I'd really rather―"

But he scaled the wall in a few simple movements, using the ground floor's jutting window frame to give himself the boost he needed. Before she could argue, he was hanging on to her windowsill, grinning. He was still wearing travel clothes, and not the finely tailored evening wear she had first seen him in. Somehow, this was more like him, she decided.

She stepped away from the window and he pushed himself over the sill. "It's good to know you are half monkey. I'll remember that."

He smirked as he dusted himself off. "Runs in the family. And don't tell her I said it, but Aryll inherited their lungs."

It was difficult not to laugh, but she held onto it, trying not to advertise his presence to the household. "I expected to see you later this week. To what do I owe the honour, improper though it is?"

He strode into her study, looking absolutely comfortable in her cluttered space. "I missed you," he said, simply.

He had a way of stating things that completely disarmed her. "How... lovely." She could feel the warmth all the way to her core.

Link turned, having apparently assessed the study, and smiled at her. There was something like shyness in it, but amusement, too. "Am I being too forward?"

"Not nearly forward enough," she said, sitting in the couch before the fire. "I've had hopefuls make their intentions known before I ever met them."

"Hm," Link said, sitting by her, pinning her with a thoughtful gaze. "So it appears I am facing a harsh competition."

"Very determined opponents," Zelda nodded. "You will have to be at your absolute best."

He nodded. "Duly noted."

They spoke naturally. It was a delight, spending time with him. He seemed to know her, just as she felt she knew him. Their conversations were easy, light, sometimes rushing ahead of them and ending in a torrent of words and a crescendo of agreement, then the laughter of accomplices.

"I don't even know how Aryll managed to catch a cat that size," Link was softly saying, much later, as the small clock on the mantel rang the eleventh hour. "The damned thing was twice her size, had scabs all over, and it was missing an ear. We called it Clawball, and never has a creature better deserved the name."

"Hm," Zelda said, toying with his hand absently, her head resting against his shoulder, "but I asked whether you'd ever had a real pet."

"We did," Link insisted. "Clawball was female. Had an entire litter of Miniclaws."

Zelda snorted with laughter. She turned to peer up at him. "How many?"

Their faces were close. Link's eyes were dark. "Seven," he replied, ever so softly. His voice was deep. It started in his chest, rumbling against Zelda's hand.

She wondered whether he could hear her heart racing. It was pounding in her ears. "Link―"

His lips landed on hers, soft, warm, firm. Oh, finally.

His hand snaked around her waist, and he nimbly pulled her into his lap. She sighed, absolutely comfortable, her heart beating hard, a loud ringing in her ears, and still she didn't stop kissing him.

Her hands went around his neck as he placed a hand on her thigh, possessively, as though to keep her from escaping.

They kissed softly, breathlessly, mindlessly, for what could have been hours, or minutes. It was hard to say.

They broke for air, but Link pressed his forehead against hers, as though reluctant to move away.

"Skies," he said, catching his breath, "I've wanted to do that since Termina."

She laughed, airily. "Me too."

That seemed to suffice, because he started kissing her all over again, this time with a fervour she hadn't expected. When he broke for air again, she ran a hand against his jawline.

"Mr. Knight," she said, and she watched his gaze drop to her lips, his brows furrowed a little, "If we want to be proper, we should rethink our position."

He looked at her in the eyes, his gaze full of mischief. "Our position?" He asked. He picked her up, hushing her when she squeaked, and maneuvered so that her knees were on each side of him, and suddenly she was looking down at him in prim horror and wanton fascination. Then, for good measure, his hand went to her backside, burning through her dress. "You mean our social position?"

"You're being very, er, social," she said, her voice raw.

He placed a hand against her nape and pulled her down for another kiss.

Skies, he was _good_. When he kissed her, she tended to forget what was going on.

Well, so be it. She had given him a way out, and he had decidedly _not_ taken it. Whatever happened next, she was enough of an adult to determine they had both jumped in together.

She pressed harder on his lips, and her hands began to roam, looking for the buttons of his shirt. As though in reply, his own hands pushed up on her thighs, under her hemline, and further up, cupping the curve of a buttock.

"You're so soft," he mumbled against her lips, as though this discovery boggled his mind.

She didn't reply. She was too busy unbuttoning his shirt. Then, breaking away, she warned him. "Link."

He was trying to pull one of her stockings off. "Hm?"

"You have to take that shirt off."

He snorted, feigning offense, and she let him shimmy the stocking off her left leg. "You first."

She pulled away completely, peeling herself off him and standing in front of him. The fire was warm against her back. Her fingers reached up to the buttons on the front of her dress, and now she knew she had him. His gaze was dark, and he sat motionless, as though any attempt to move would break what thin remaining control he still had.

Perfect.

The top her dress peeled open, one button at a time. She returned to him. His hands instantly went for the remaining buttons, and she watched him fumble at them.

Her pendant dropped out, and Link froze.

Embarrassed, Zelda seized the ruby in her hand. "I'm sorry. I always keep this hidden. My father gave it to me. I know it is ostentatiously large. I don't like showing it off. But it brings me comfort."

Something in Link's jaw was leaping. She hurried to remove it, but Link reached out to take it from her, to study it.

Then, at length, he said, "It suits you," his voice raw. He placed it on a side table with the sort of care only she had ever used to manipulate it. Then, his gaze inscrutable, he pulled her in for another bruising kiss.

This kiss was different from the others. It was desperate, possessive, hungry. She let herself drown in it, let him pull her down to the carpet, let him climb over her until she lay underneath him, her hair a mess, her breath racing, her heart pounding, her entire body flush with need.

His hands were everywhere. She struggled to keep up, mind swimming in heat and darkness and the heady feeling of his lips on hers.

He paused. "Last chance." Through the desire, she saw his good humour.

"Do I look like I have qualms?" She asked, knowing exactly what she looked like at that moment, with her dress unbuttoned, her stockings missing, her lips bruised, her cheeks flushed. Even if she had wanted to pretend she was proper tonight, it was too late.

"Oh, thank the skies, seas and sands," he muttered, diving back in to run kisses down her neck. She couldn't hold in the bubbling laughter, her chest heaving, which pleased him to no end.

In the morning, when she woke, the room was cool. The fire had died out, but she was snugly covered with every blanket, throw and article of clothing Link had apparently been able to scrounge up. Her necklace lay next to her head, and when she turned to peer at it, she saw a note, her name scrawled hastily on the fold.

Sitting up, she realized she was alone, the place where Link had fallen asleep next to her cold to the touch on the carpet. As though he hadn't been there at all.

Dread crept into her mind. She picked up the note and unfolded it. _Zelda_ , it read. _Thank you. I'm sorry. L._

Numbly, she blinked at the scrawled writing, and something began to pull at her consciousness, insistently, loudly.

There was a commotion downstairs. In silence, like an automaton, she put her necklace back on, pulled her dress back on over her head, buttoned it up, and ran her fingers through her messy hair. Then she wrapped her robe over her wrinkled clothes, tucked her pendant inside, and went for the study door.

Out in the hall, downstairs, two constables were talking to Mrs. Rose, the housekeeper, who looked visibly distraught.

On instinct, Zelda looked to the crest over the hall fireplace.

The Master Sword was gone.

Of course it was. Zelda absently wondered whether she had truly known the outcome before the note, and wasn't sure.

There was nothing the constables could do, she knew. Before anyone noticed her, she walked back to her study, shut the door, and sat in her favourite chair.

 _Zelda, Thank you. I'm sorry. L._

Well, she reflected. Her hand went to her pendant, and she frowned.

He'd had plenty of opportunity to take it, too. And it was worth far more than the sword. So why?

Zelda clenched her teeth, squeezing the ruby in her hand.

Alright. He'd had his fun. Now, he owed her answers. And she knew, with cold certainty, there was no corner of Hylia remote enough for him to escape her.

She had a suitcase to pack.

* * *

 **Yay! Now the game is _ON_.**

 **Also. Clawball and Miniclaw are original nicknames (in actual French― Boule-de-griffes & Minigriffes) that my fiancé assigned to a cat named Aramis and its kitten, which his uncle found and decided to keep, many years ago. Aramis, for reference, was heavier than my dear beloved at the time (who was six years-old and chubby). A thick scar ran through its eye, one of its ears was missing, the other was torn, and my fiancé described touching its fur to be like caressing a ball of pure scabs, muscle and hate. In fact, this creature hated everyone but my fiancé's uncle, and it would stalk my fiancé and his cousin through the house, attacking them with its claws. It would sit at the top of the stairs, and swipe at their napes when they least expected it. Hence the nickname, as you clearly guessed.**

 **And then the demon turned out to be female. A female that grew up in the harsh, poor Gaspesian countryside, somehow surviving by, like, fighting lynxes (and perhaps mating with bears) until my fiancé's uncle decided it looked like the perfect animal for his elderly mother's ancestral home, a place where her small grandchildren (read: prey) frequently spent days at a time.**

 **This uncle is not what you would call a "forward-thinking person".**

 **When Boule-de-Griffes finally died of a urinary tract infection, it was buried in the yard, but apparently not deep enough, because by next morning something had dug it out, potentially for food. Lynxes, I tell you.**

 **Or maybe Boule-de-Griffes isn't dead, and it still roams HWY 132 to this day! Spooky.**

 **So that's the story. Clearly the story I really wanted to tell, which is why I did all this, leading you to this very crucial moment where you hear about my fiancé's hatred of a cat.**

 **In getting back to the story, I think it's obvious now we're entering the second half. Not only thematically, but in terms of remaining chapters (and we all know what that brings us closer to ― HYPE TRAIN: the ticket is for the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge!). I am like stupidly excited about not having messed up my delivery schedule yet, even through one of my busiest weeks so far this year.**

 **Wow, it is 9PM and more urgent work just came in. Gonna have to go, especially if I want to make it.**

 **See you tomorrow!**


	8. Holodrum

**I got a question last chapter about whether or not I would be buying _Splatoon 2_ for the Switch: I don't know. Maybe. For now, though, I am looking at purchasing a very expensive Zelda machine (Canadian dollars are so weak right now, the entire thing, that is, the console and one game, will cost $550 with taxes ― $550 for a Zelda game! Thank god I have a respectable income and very little dignity).**

* * *

HOLODRUM

When the train pulled into the station at Horon City, Midna Black was already waiting. Zelda joined her on the platform. The hard summer sun made the air humid and unpleasant, and the smell of engines made Zelda long for the cool fragrant shade of Faron.

Midna looked perfectly at ease, visibly used to stifling heat. She leaned in, giving Zelda a cursory welcome.

"When did you arrive?" Zelda asked.

"Yesterday," Midna replied. "I left almost as soon as I received your telegram."

Zelda nodded. "I would have been quicker, but my father―"

"I understand," Midna said. She lifted Zelda's luggage. "Is this it?" She asked of the single light bag.

"I don't intend to stay long," Zelda said.

Midna smiled, impish, like a cat with a prey. Then, she sighed. "I still don't know why you refuse to call the constables."

"I want to be sure," Zelda said, following her out of the train station and into her car, thanking the driver ― a handsome man, and finely dressed― for opening the door. As she settled in the backseat, she patted out the wrinkles in her travel clothes and added, "Besides, he is both the best and the worst thief I have ever seen, which makes him a true oddity."

She had summarily described the events that had led to her conclusion about Link, skipping the parts that were none of Midna's business, including only that he had not taken the ruby.

Midna's gaze slipped to Zelda's necklace, and she pursed her lips. "My offer still stands."

"It's not for sale," Zelda said, smiling, her hand absently going to her collar line, under which the ruby rested. "Its sentimental value to me may be even greater than its worth in rupees."

"Hm, regrettable," Midna flippantly said, as the car sputtered to life under them and began to move. "Now, back to your thief. Link Knight, you said his name was?"

"It may well not be his real name," Zelda mused. "But he responded to 'Link' quite readily. It must at least be close."

Midna pulled out a small notebook and pencil, and began to write. As she did, she said, "The invitations from the Charity spelled his name as Link Knight, and his sister as Aryll, same last name. Interestingly, there seems to be a third sibling. A man. Dark, his name was."

The car sputtered under them as it rolled over a pothole.

Zelda's brows went up in surprise. "A brother? He never mentioned any." Then, pensively, she said, "Although that would explain how the Fused Shadows disappeared even as I was looking at both Link and his sister."

"And who was driving the getaway car in Clock Town," Midna said, tapping her pencil against her full lips. "I have no idea who these people are," she said.

"I know," Zelda said. "I looked into every Knight family in Hylia, and nothing turned up with either of their descriptions. Hence my suspicions that Knight is not, in fact, their family name."

Midna nodded. The air inside the car was sweltering hot, but it only seemed to make Midna look more enticing, giving a warm hue to her skin, whereas Zelda felt certain she looked like a pink turnip. Then, curiously, Midna turned her gaze inside the car, brow furrowed. "Did you say he was still answering your telegrams?"

Zelda smiled. Yes. He was. When she had sent her initial message, she had not expected a reply.

 _Surprised you did not take ruby. Will remind you its worth greater than all of Ordon. Z._

The silence had stretched, until, two days later, he had replied, stunning her.

 _Sorry could not stay. You looked beautiful. Ass very round. L._

The cheek. And no acknowledgement of his crime. She had tried to keep her temper when she had sent back:

 _Why the sword. Thousand things worth more. Should come back and find them. Z._

She was sure she could hear him smiling when his reply came.

 _Want nothing more – but only one treasure there. V. strong tempered. L._

He was still flirting. The nerve. And the shame. Reading his words had filled her with foolish hope that perhaps there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything. But if there was, he did not provide it.

 _Why. Z._

His reply had taken over a week to arrive, to the point that she had thought perhaps it was over, then, one late afternoon:

 _For now cannot say. Please forgive. Started reading books you sent. V. interesting. L._

And so it had gone on, a conversation so frustrating and enticing that she had convinced herself that the only reason she still fostered it was to keep a lead on him. And in a way, it had worked.

To Midna, she nodded. "Yes. He either doesn't know or doesn't care that the origin address is printed numerically in each transmission."

"Which is why we are here," Midna said, looking out the window at Horon City. It resembled Castleton somewhat, if a little grimier.

"Yes. His sending address kept moving around in Ordon until three days ago. Suddenly," she motioned vaguely to the buildings outside the window as they passed by, "Horon City, Holodrum." She had considered going to Ordon first, but it was a rather large city, and she had not even a full name to go by.

"Well, this should narrow our search down a great deal," Midna said. "How many artifacts has your father left lying around Horon City?"

"Only one," Zelda said, serenely. "The Rod of Seasons. It is kept in the mansion of a private collector, who has rented it for a year."

"Rented?"

Zelda shrugged. "To show it off. Mr. Bipin and Mrs. Blossom are wealthy and they have cared for every item we have ever loaned them. We had no reason to think the Rod would be in any danger."

"Sensible, until recently," Midna said, taking down notes. Then, with some satisfaction, she said, "It will be good to get ahead of him, at least."

Zelda agreed quietly. In fact, seeing him in person was now one of her only preoccupations. Given the opportunity, she wanted to confront him, to see and hear him attempt to justify himself. She couldn't reconcile the man she had laughed with that night and the cold-hearted thief that had orchestrated so many losses. Either he was the finest liar in Hylia, or the reality lay somewhere in between, at the crossroads of who he _was_ and what he _did_.

And what he did, she contemplated, was drive her insane.

By the time she had deposited her single bag in the room she was renting at the Horon Grand Plaza and changed into better clothes, it was nearing mid-afternoon. They reached Mr. Bipin's mansion just as the bells rang four o'clock.

"Right on time," Midna said, as the gates opened to let their car through. The trees passed by in quick succession, until they reached a lovely house covered in flowers. "I hate when I'm late."

Zelda hummed in agreement. Midna had deemed it appropriate to warn of their arrival. Up ahead, Mr. Bipin and his wife were already on their front steps, eager to welcome them.

They stepped out of the car, and the fragrant scent of roses, lilac and lilies swamped them, so that Zelda simply had to pause and inhale deeply. In the late afternoon, the sun wasn't nearly so scalding and the shadows were growing longer.

"What a wonderful home," she said, as Mrs. Blossom approached.

"Thank you," she said. She turned to her husband, fondly. "Mr. Bipin does indulge my love of flowers so."

"Yes, you have a beautiful house," Midna said. "It's good to meet you. I hate to seem rushed, but we would feel much more comfortable if we could have the Rod of Seasons as soon as possible."

Mr. Bipin jumped to attention. "Yes, of course." He motioned for them to follow him into the house. "As you know, we have been delighted to be its keepers for the past eight months. It would be a shame to see it lost."

Mrs. Blossom took Zelda's arm amicably as they entered the cool hall. "We prepared it for travel already," she said. "It is all packaged up, perhaps a bit more than is strictly necessary."

"I appreciate it," Zelda said. They entered a study at the back of the house. It was high ceilinged and, on the walls, portraits of every ancestor peered at visitors unblinkingly.

In the middle of the room, a display case lay open, and a crate next to it.

Mr. Bipin paused. Then, he grew pale.

"Skies, I don't understand." He approached the crate, then peered at the empty display case. "It was here not ten minutes ago. Blossom, dear, did you move it?"

"No," Mrs. Blossom said. "I don't―"

"They're on the premises," Midna interrupted, turning to look at Zelda sharply. "They can't be far."

Zelda nodded, untangling herself from Mrs. Blossom's arm. She had worn flat shoes and thanked herself for it, because she ran back out the front door, far ahead of Midna's ridiculously high heels.

"But how did they get in and out so quickly?" Mr. Bipin was saying, dismayed.

The windows. It was a classic break-in, Zelda considered, as she called out to Midna's driver. In the summer many of the ground floor windows had been left open. It was almost too easy.

"Start the car," she ordered, without waiting for him to open the door. Midna was on her heels, apologizing to their hosts as she followed Zelda into the backseat. The driver, grumbling, started the engine when they both closed their doors.

In a crush of gravel, the car sped off.

"They can't be far," Midna said. She scowled. "We didn't see any of them."

Zelda shook her head. "If he was waiting for us to distract Mr. Bipin and his wife, I will wring his neck."

Midna blinked in confusion, then understanding dawned and she groaned. "Oh, is that what he did?"

" _There_!" Zelda cried, leaning forward over the driver's shoulder. "That man, right there."

Link, with a long package under his arm. He was running along the private estate's path towards the street, where his sister waited, inside a running car. Zelda leaned into her driver's ear.

"If you manage to follow that car," she said, "I will pay you as much as the item he stole is worth."

Ahead of them, Link leaped into his sister's car, and Aryll slammed on the accelerator, lurking ahead so roughly that Link struggled to shut his door.

Their driver glanced back at Zelda, eyebrow raised. "Really? You'll pay me forty-five thousand rupees?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

Wait. Why did this man look so familiar?

Their car slowed as they reached the street. Aryll and Link's car was getting away.

Her driver yawned.

"What are you _doing_?!"Zelda cried.

Midna leaned forward, pushing Zelda aside, and grabbed her driver's collar. "Did he _pay you off_?"

The driver shrugged. He looked almost as handsome as Link― in fact―

Zelda pointed accusingly. "You're _Dark_!"

"At your service," Link's brother said, smirking.

Out of nowhere, before Zelda could react, Midna had pulled off her high heel and was pressing it against Dark's throat, and she snarled, "How much is your pulse worth? _Drive_ , dammit!"

Instead of feeling any fear whatsoever, Dark laughed. Then, he slammed on the pedal. The car roared forward, into traffic, and they were off.

Zelda fell back into her seat, heart in her throat. Link's car was ahead of them, and she wasn't sure how comfortable she was that the thieves had managed to orchestrate having Dark as their driver for the day. Or how safe it would be to have him in charge of all their lives. He seemed reckless.

"I have been aching to meet you, Mr. Dark. What's your last name, anyway?" Midna asked, still threatening him with bodily harm.

Dark tisked, utterly unconcerned. "I can't tell you that. Too easy. You're certainly both smart enough to have found us here. You can keep working on your theories." He swerved onto an avenue, startling a dozen pigeons.

Peering around, Zelda could start to make out her surroundings.

"He's heading back to the train station," Zelda said. "Midna, the _train station_."

"Why are you taking us back to the station?" Midna asked, into their mutinous driver's ear. Her stiletto heel was still pressing against his throat, which seemed to bother him not at all.

"I like trains," Dark said, lightly. "And I really hope you have tickets."

Zelda frowned. His gaze met hers in the rear view mirror.

"No?" He pouted. "That's such a shame. Here I hoped we could all spend the trip getting to know one another." His eyes were sharp, sharp as Link's but sanguine brown instead of deep blue, and they narrowed at her. "And I admit, there is still so much about you Link hasn't told me."

"Enough talk," Midna snarled. "Get out of the car."

"That might be dangerous," Dark said. He jerked the steering wheel, and Midna lost her balance somewhat. Her heel came away from his throat. "You know what?" He said, to Midna, as Zelda helped her recover from the sudden movement, "Ms. Black. I like you. Very feisty."

The train station loomed ahead, and Zelda saw Link and Aryll exit their car with small bags and an elongated package that could only be the Rod of Seasons. Before Dark could come to a complete stop, she swung her car door open and leaped out.

Dark slammed on the brakes as Zelda's feet touched the ground. "Skies, lady, wishing for death?"

Midna grabbed his collar and they began to struggle, but Zelda was already running.

"Link!"

Over the cacophony of steam whistles, chugging engines, crowds and paper boys, Link heard her. He turned somewhat, gazed directly at her with a look of soul-bearing guilt, then pressed his lips together and turned away, running after his sister.

The boarding calls were sounding, and Zelda pressed through the crush to catch up.

Aryll had reached the wagon doors, where she jumped up. Link threw his bags onto the wagon, then hurried onboard.

Zelda finally made it through the crowd. The train began to move, a slowly increasing chugging beginning to pull the entire train powerfully. She began to run along the platform, just in time to see Dark push past her, waving a ticket and being helped up onto a wagon by a helpful station attendant.

The train sped up, and Zelda realized she was not going to catch up. She wondered where Midna had gone, if Dark had managed to get away, and why―

"Link!" She called out.

He was looking right at her, and he was shaking his head. He was saying something, but she couldn't hear him.

Then, he seemed to give up on being heard, the distance between them growing greater, and he simply mouthed the words 'I'm sorry'.

It cut the wind out of her sails.

Resigned, she slowed to a stop, breathless. She wasn't sure whether he would understand, but she mouthed the best threat that came to her mind at that moment: 'I will _find_ you.'

He blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly. He nodded firmly, as though he hoped she would, which defeated the entire purpose of her threat and made her heart soar. Stupidly.

The train was too fast. She watched him grow smaller, between Aryll, who looked solemn, and Dark, who seemed ridiculously happy. Maybe he really did love railed locomotion.

Before she knew it, the train was gone, rushing down the tracks. She stood there for a while, watching until the train was fully out of sight.

At length, Midna rejoined her. She looked flushed. Her hair was a mess.

Zelda reached out. "I am sorry I left you with him." Mournfully, she admitted, "In the end, I couldn't catch up. Did he hurt you?"

Midna shook her head. "No, he did worse. He kissed me."

Zelda froze, turning to stare at her in confusion. Now that she mentioned it, her lipstick did look somewhat smudged. "Oh, skies, Midna, I'm―"

"We need to find them," Midna said, with finality.

"I will," Zelda swore.

Midna straightened, pulling her fingers through her hair. "Because I have never been kissed like that and it better not be the last time." Exhaling, invigorated, she shook her hair out, and said, "Are you coming? We have to think of our next step."

Speechless, Zelda followed along, until she decided that it was best not to laugh. Besides, she had an inkling that she knew exactly where Link and his siblings were going to strike next.

And this time, she wouldn't let him get away.

* * *

 **This chapter very nearly didn't happen. I really hope tomorrow's is easier, because I have this massive headache and so much work to complete...**

 **But hang in there with me, guys. One week to go!**

 **Ahhh I _just_ got a review guessing at the artifacts being selected! Yes, they are the iconic and/or titular items from the mainstream Zelda games. So far, we've seen _Majora's Mask_ , _Twilight Princess_ , _Wind Waker_ , _A Link to the Past_ (although one could argue the Master Sword is from every game, really), and _Oracle of Seasons_. I bet that, like Zelda up here, you can guess what items remain to be seized (there are three more, by the way).**


	9. Labrynna

**Whee! Did you think I'd miss my deadline? So did I. And yet:**

* * *

LABRYNNA

The vault in the Black Tower Bank was renowned for its safety measures, but in the end Link had simply agreed with Aryll that the best way to break into a vault was to make everyone think he had reason to be in it, copy the janitor's keys, then return when all was quiet.

Human engineering, Dark called it.

The obscurity was deeper than usual that night. An overcast sky combined with morose city lighting turned most of Lynna City into a bit of a spooky place. There was one guard on duty, Link knew, but he mostly kept an eye on the tellers' floor, convinced that any theft attempts would have to come in from the doors.

Which was why Link used a window at the back, near the janitors' closet. It was a more convoluted walk to find the vault, but it would be undisturbed. And it was an excellent exit route, too. If all went well, he'd be done within forty-five minutes, or so Dark had estimated when, disguised as a customer, he'd surveyed the vault.

The Harp of Ages was inside a safety deposit box. It was a large enough object that Aryll had guessed it would be stored in one of the fewer large boxes. Finding the registry and locating Lionel Nohansen's name had been easy enough.

In fact, Link considered, everything was going as smoothly as it could have, which made for a nice change of pace. Other thefts had left a sour feeling in his mouth.

Sometimes, he remembered Zelda on the platform, her form shrinking in the distance, and his heart ached.

He would have preferred not to use her, but Ganondorf Dragmire was beginning to make himself threatening. He'd sent Onox Gorgon as an emissary to retrieve what artifacts they could, and the message had been clear: hurry up.

The bank, at night, was a little eerie. Link slipped through the hallways and corridors as noiselessly as he physically could, his boots worn and soft. The vault would make some noise when he opened it, but he was confident he wouldn't disturb the guard.

In the middle of the building, away from most windows and doors, the vault sat, a squat and reinforced structure with a single door. The thick key in his hand jingled as he placed it into the keyhole, then he grabbed the handles and began to pull. Two turns to the left, three turns to the right, and one turn to the left. Twenty-three is number one, Aryll had said, having overheard one of the tellers carelessly mention it during a break.

The door made a soft clunking sound. Heart pounding, Link grabbed the thick reinforced door handle and pulled.

The vault was pitch black. What little light filtered in through the windows did not reach here. Link pursed his lips and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of matchsticks. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

The match struck on the first swipe, and Link blinked into the darkness. In the flickering light of his match, the vault seemed like a gaping maw, rows of locked boxes disappearing into the void. He hurried in.

The box he was looking for was large box number seventeen. His eyes trailed the rows of numbers until his matchstick threatened to burn his fingers. He relit a match to continue his search.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, there. Seventeen.

Link pulled out the keys and prayed the master copy would work.

It did. It slid in and turned with a satisfying click.

But when the door swung open, the box was empty.

Link re-lit a match, then reached in, feeling in the dark, heart pounding. No, no, no. They'd checked. The registry was unchanged. It was here. It had to be!

For a moment, Ganondorf's mad golden eyes danced before him in the flickering light, and Link felt nauseous.

"Looking for this?"

Link nearly jumped out of his skin. The matchstick dropped to the floor, blowing itself out and plunging him in absolute darkness. Before any logical thought entered his mind, his instincts had taken over. He was ready to fight, and he blindly reached out, grabbing the intruder by the shirt, pulling them in and slamming them against the row of lock boxes.

It was about then that his mind recognized the voice. And when his hands felt the softness under that shirt.

Zelda cleared her throat. "Are we quite done?" She asked, pointedly.

He leapt away, nearly falling over the lockbox examination table behind him. "Skies, seas and sands," he hissed. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

In the pitch darkness, he heard her move, but there was no telling what was going on. She lit a small oil lamp, making him flinch at the sudden light.

She was beautiful, as always, the warmth of the flame giving her a look like a primal goddess. And she was holding the Harp of Ages, eyeing him with some smugness.

"Isn't it nice," she asked, "how easy getting here was?"

Link groaned. Oh. Of course. "You wanted me to be here."

Zelda shrugged. "I wanted to see if my hunch was right." She eyed the Harp of Ages in her hand. "The Rod of Seasons is never used alone. The two form a pair. I figured you'd want the other one."

It burned Link's lips to correct her. Not me, he wanted to say. Dragmire. But he refrained.

"I'll make a deal," Zelda said, the deep shadows like a veil of secrecy. "Answer my questions, and I'll give you the Harp."

Link frowned. It was a trap. It had to be. But hope surged inside him. If she was asking, perhaps she didn't hate him. Perhaps―

"The Harp of Seasons. Your brother said he was getting paid forty-five thousand rupees for it."

Link pursed his lips. "We're getting fifty, actually." He would be honest, as much as he could. "But five thousand were needed to travel."

Zelda placed the lamp next to her on the table, peering at him with furrowed brows. "The Harp is only worth _thirty_. Who is paying you? Why are they paying so much for this?" She hefted the Harp with curiosity.

"I can't answer that," Link said, bile rising. "On our lives."

"On your lives," Zelda repeated, flatly. "You just told me you're getting paid."

Link shrugged. It had always been Ganondorf Dragmire's way to pay his people ridiculously. "Makes us accomplices rather than victims. Forces agency on us." He shook his head. "Zelda, I don't think I should―"

"Who?" She insisted.

"I can't tell you," Link repeated. "Please."

"Why didn't you contact me when it began?"

"I didn't think you existed," Link said, feeling anger rise inside him. "I didn't want this to happen," he snapped. "I didn't want to meet whoever I was hurting, and I certainly didn't want to actually like you."

She startled, as though struck. "Duly noted," she said, coolly, and Link felt his anger die out. "Then tell me your name."

Link sighed. That was not an unreasonable request, in ordinary circumstances, but he was weighing the possibility of dying at Ganondorf Dragmire's hands for failing to complete the tasks assigned against the likelihood that she would have the constables arrest them as soon as she discovered their identities.

"I―" His voice failed him. He couldn't meet her gaze.

"Because I have never heard of you before. The Knight families in Hylia mention no Link, and in fact you don't seem to be a gentleman from any of the crested families―"

"Because I'm not a gentleman," Link said. The shame probably burned on his face, but the light was too weak for it to show, he was sure. He sighed, running his hand over his face, then braced himself. "Alright? I dress like one. The money isn't mine. We're Foresters."

Zelda blinked. "Link… Forester?"

"And Aryll Forester and Dark Forester," Link said. "There. Now you know. We're lowly peasants, of no lineage or consequence." He motioned vaguely. "We have no crest, we have no wealth."

"Which is why you're stealing," Zelda said. "But why would you only steal from the Nohansen lineage?" She peered at him in the darkness. "And why would this…" She hesitated, "… Your _patron_ pay you far more than the items you steal are worth? Why didn't you take my ruby?"

"I don't like stealing," Link grumbled. "I do what I'm told because not doing so means hunger and poverty for Aryll, Dark and I. And because you don't know my patron, as you call him. I can't say no."

"Tell me his name," Zelda asked, stepping forward, her expression earnest. "Please. We can help you. You don't have to do this."

Link snorted, but in the dim light, he found his finger running along her cheek. And she didn't move away. "It won't be long now. We'll stop soon. He'll have everything he wants."

Zelda rolled her eyes, grabbing his hand and snatching it away from her face. But she didn't let go. "Link, no one can force you to commit crimes like this."

"You're naïve," he said, knowing the words were cruel. "You have no idea what real hunger feels like, and how good it feels to see Aryll stop shivering from the cold." He squeezed her hand. "You are kind, Zelda, but you can't support us three for the rest of our lives."

"Give me this man's name," Zelda said. "And at least we can remove the sword at your neck."

For a dire second, Link almost saw Ganondorf in the shadows, reaching for Zelda, squeezing her throat, and her eyes revulsing as she choked. "No." He spoke it with fierce protectiveness. "I won't."

"Fine," Zelda said, with a huff. "Then tell me about that night, in Faron."

Those words evoked the memory of her sighs, the reminder of her hair all around him, the flushed skin of her cheeks, the way she moved. He swallowed. "What about it?"

"Did you mean any of it?"

Link let out a shuddering breath. "Do you mean, did I intend to seduce you to distract you in order to steal the Master Sword?"

Zelda rolled her eyes. "Well, there is no doubt that is exactly what you did. But…" She seemed angry with herself. "Link. I wanted to hate you, and I couldn't. I'm _here_ ," she said, "against my better judgement. Am I wasting my time?"

Link felt his heart pounding in his ears. No, I hope you are not. "No," he said. "I didn't mean to seduce you. I didn't even mean to be seen."

But the light in her study had been like a siren's call, ruining what efforts he had deployed to control what she knew. Everything about her called to him, and he had spent the dark hours after midnight hating himself. She had been asleep against his shoulder, perfect in the crook of his arm, oblivious to the turmoil howling inside him.

"In the end, I just…" He brought her hand up to his lips, feeling the soft skin of her palm. Then, with a light squeeze, "I can't stay away."

There was a long silence. Then, Zelda removed her hand from his grip.

"I can't do this," she said, her words driving a knife through his gut. "I'm sorry." She looked utterly miserable, and Link resisted the urge to embrace her, knowing his efforts would be wasted.

"Zelda…"

"You lied to me about your name. You lied to me about who you are. You didn't tell me you had a brother. You made me believe there was…" She looked frustrated. "Something! Something to give me hope in one of the darkest times of my life." The anger was beginning to rise, he now saw. "Link, my father is _dying_." Her eyes were dark. "And I'm running around Hylia stupidly, blindly, convinced that something about you is different." She scoffed. "And it is. Skies, it definitely is. You're not real. Nothing about you can be trusted."

"Zelda―"

"If I see you again," she said, "I will call the authorities. These thefts must stop."

"They won't," Link said. The words felt like thorns on his tongue. His voice was raw. "I can't. He'll kill me."

"Then I hope you enjoy the cool damp of a prison cell."

Link contained the anger. She was lashing out because he had hurt her. He understood that. But when he spoke next, his voice was cold all the same: "You won't call the constables."

"I will find out who is scaring you so much," she said, looking for ways to hurt him. "And who knows, maybe I'll ask him for his attentions. He seems to have bested you, so that must make him a fine specimen of man―"

Link took the lamp and threw it. It shattered against the wall, plunging them into darkness once again.

He took her wrist, and didn't squeeze. His voice was low, the cold fury making everything clear. "You won't," he growled, with a rage so contained he felt almost like a wild animal. "You will never go looking for that man. You will stay as far away from him as you possibly can. You will not seek information about him, you will hide your very existence if possible."

Under the rage, Link realized, she had struck a nerve of pure terror. The thought of Ganondorf Dragmire setting his sights on Zelda had filled him with white hot fear.

"Whatever happens," he said, softening his voice. "Please, Zelda. He _will_ hurt you."

In the dark, her hand reached for his cheek. He leaned into it, desperately.

"He _has_ hurt me," she said, and Link felt the pain of guilt like a physical wound. "He keeps hurting me. And you are his tool." Her hand dropped away, and her voice was dull, empty. "Keep the damned Harp. But if I see you again, if you approach my family's heirlooms again, if any of your siblings attempt to contact my estate in any capacity," her voice was raw, a promise that made Link shudder, "you will find out that this man you fear has _nothing_ on me."

He saw her silhouette leaving the vault, her shoulders low and, several steps away, he heard her begin to sob.

* * *

 ***Special thanks for ChangelingRin who pointed out it's not a Rod, it's a Harp of Ages. Thank you. I am super spaced out.**

 **We need a low point, guys, otherwise what's the rise for?**

 **I am definitely going to rework this chapter at some point, but for now I'm okay with check-marking a couple of necessary plot waypoints, which is what matters. Plus, I think if I tried to proofread in the same session as the writing, I'd provide very little improvement. Again, this was written in one sitting today, with an entire week's worth of hard work behind me.**

 **And doesn't end for the next two days! I basically work every day of the week, every week of the year. (This is why I usually struggle to find time to write, by the way.)**

 **It's nice to see you all speculate about what's next! The remaining artifacts (after this one, from _Oracle of Ages_ ) are from... Two other mainstream (released) games. So no, nothing from _Breath of the Wild_. I don't use speculative material. After all, I haven't played it. Yet.**

 **I know this sounds silly, but working on this project, exhausting as it is, really helps to keep me from going insane with excitement and it makes me happy to share it with you guys.**

 **Like we're a support group, ha! Thanks for tagging along.**


	10. Eldin

**This is the part where the going gets tough.  
**

* * *

ELDIN

Dark peered outside the window for the eighteenth time. Link knew because he'd counted. The late summer in Eldin was stifling, which made sleep almost impossible. So when they'd both realized Aryll was nowhere to be found, anxiety had set in.

"She said she'd be back by now," Dark said. "She was only going to the library."

They were looking for the Goddess Harp, perhaps one of the oldest artifacts on the list. It had the reputation of channeling the power of the goddesses, which was a ridiculous claim at best.

It had been in Eldin, in a museum to the first civilizations, but, just as they'd arrived in Kakariko City, the news had trickled in that the artifact's owner had recalled it. It was under heavy guard. Far more than they could tackle. Which meant they were stumped.

Aryll, ever proactive, had decided to at least begin to research the next artifact, so she had let her two older brothers pass out in their rented room. They had driven all night, taking turns, to arrive in Kakariko before either Zelda, or Midna, or their hired constables, could hear about their movement.

Except, apparently, Zelda had anticipated their efforts and had simply begun to recall every single item her father owned.

Which made the entire effort fruitless.

Too tired to think, they'd decided to sleep on the matter.

Only now, Aryll wasn't back. It was late day, and the sun was low on the horizon, casting the sky in a mess of reds and oranges that matched the colour of the dirt in Eldin. The library had to have been closed at this hour. She ought to have been back.

Link was just about to suggest that they go in search of her when there was a knock at the door.

Dread sank into Link's gut. There were two reasons for this: the first, because Aryll wouldn't knock, and no one knew they were there. The second, because he had heard that knock before.

In Ordon. Last winter.

Dark was frowning, about to head to the door, when Link held him back.

"Hide," he whispered, barely audible.

Dark furrowed his brow further. "Wh―" Only to be silenced by Link's hand.

With a single movement, Link pushed Dark into one of the narrower closets. The knock sounded again. Dark was about to protest, but Link shot him a quelling, urgent look.

He whispered, "If anything happens, stay hidden until you're sure it's over and safe. I need you to look for Aryll."

Dark's argument broke off mid-inhalation. With a glare, he nodded curtly. Link shut the closet door.

Then, making his way to the only exit, Link took a deep breath.

And he swung the door open, coming face to face with Ganondorf Dragmire. Again. It was two times too many.

"Hello," Ganondorf Dragmire said, filling out the entire doorjamb. Over his shoulder, Link saw Byrne Claw, but Onox was nowhere to be found.

Rather than reply, Link asked, "How did you find us?"

Dragmire laughed. "I found you once when you were hiding. Finding you when you're _not_ is the easiest thing in the world."

He was still finely dressed, though Link was only in shirtsleeves, his hem untucked, his hair a mess.

"Then," Link said, smiling coolly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ganondorf Dragmire pushed through the door, past him, and looked around at their modest accommodations. Byrne Claw did the same, but he posted himself in front of the door, shutting it behind him. Apparently, running away was not an option.

Dragmire looked pleasant. Link hated when he looked pleasant. It only made his mood swings more violent, less predictable.

"Is your brother not here?" Ganondorf Dragmire asked. "I could have sworn we saw him enter, but not leave."

Link clenched his teeth to keep from setting him off. "He left out the window. For practice."

"Practice," Dragmire echoed, smiling. "Of course."

Then, casually, with the same affable expression, Ganondorf Dragmire removed his hat, placed it on a nearby table, lifted his cane, and, with one, smooth movement and barely a whisper, withdrew its hidden blade.

Leveling it against Link's throat, the smiling politician said, "I gave you a simple job."

The metal felt cool against Link's neck, and when he responded he could feel the tip bobbing against his apple. "None of it was simple."

"You had the skills, the resources and the money to do as I asked, but here we are." Ganondorf Dragmire shook his head, feigning exasperation. "No, this is not my fault. I gave you everything you needed to succeed. I raised you and your siblings out of the gutter, not once, but twice, and taught you everything you needed to know."

Now the blade pressed harder against Link's throat. Link could have backed away, but displaying fear would be worse. He knew it was only a matter of time before the metal cut him. In silence, he made his peace with it.

"And what's more," Ganondorf continued, his voice still even, though his smile was becoming fixed, like a pantomime, "I paid you when many others would have told you that you were lucky just to eat the scraps off my table. I raised you and that brother of yours. And how do you repay me?"

Now Link could feel the hot tickle of a single drop of blood trickling down his neck. Still, he didn't move.

"You steal from me," Dragmire said. "You vanish for years. After all I did. And when I return, with forgiveness and an opportunity to redeem yourselves," the golden eyes had gone manic now, "you manage to alert your mark's daughter, and now she is closing up her legs to us like some prim damsel, the little whore!"

He gave a push with the blade, and now Link did move, to avoid the actual attack.

Ganondorf Dragmire didn't lunge again. Instead, he watched Link with the same insanity he always displayed. "You had a simple task. Eight artifacts, I assigned to you. None of them beyond the skills you displayed when you were still under my employ. But you've gone soft," he said, narrowing his eyes. "And now I see you have no intention to do as I asked in Waker."

"We're going as quickly as we can," Link said, holding on to his patience.

"Not quickly enough!" The movement of the blade was so sudden that Link didn't have time to react. It nicked his cheek. The burn told him he had broken skin.

Ganondorf Dragmire looked possessed.

"I thought to myself that a few months would suffice," he said. "But you have dragged your feet. And now, I see I have no choice but to set a deadline."

Link exhaled. "A deadline," he echoed, flatly.

"Yes," Dragmire said. Suddenly, he was smiling again, apparently pleased with himself. "Quite literally. You see, I had the fortune of encountering your sister just now."

Oh, no.

"If you touch a single hair from her head," Link snarled, "I will―"

"Yes, yes, kill me." Ganondorf Dragmire rolled his eyes. "Well, you're in luck. I have not touched even a single one of her lashes. But Onox did, so she's on her way to my mansion in Gerudo as we speak."

Link barely had time to inch forward before Byrne Claw grabbed him.

"I will kill you," Link swore, struggling against Byrne's grip. "If anything happens to her, I will find you and kill you."

Ganondorf Dragmire looked bored. "Then respect my deadline," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Sands, one might think you have the attention span of a peahat."

"What's the deadline?" Link demanded.

Ganondorf Dragmire's golden eyes narrowed again. "The full moon on the Fall Equinox. A matchup of the equinox with the lunar cycle is excessively rare." He raised his gaze to the ceiling, pretending to calculate. "So, I suppose that means you have seven weeks from today to finish the job."

" _Seven weeks_?" Link echoed, stunned. "We'll need that just to plan out one strategy―"

Dragmire shrugged. "Yes, you can see my problem," he said. "And you didn't seem overly concerned with my problem until I made it yours. Now _don't worry_ , your sister will be as safe as a pearl. Unless you miss your deadline. Then," he sighed, "I'm afraid she will be quite unsafe."

Link fought the rising bile in his throat.

Apparently satisfied with Link's expression, Ganondorf Dragmire nodded to Byrne, allowing him to let Link go. Then, turning on his heel, he grabbed his hat, and left.

The door closed behind him just as Dark got out of the closet, fuming.

"This is all your fault," he said, striding forward and grabbing Link by the collar. "You and your damned business with that woman. She didn't have to know about us. Now she knows we're coming. We'll never make it in seven weeks."

Link pushed him back. "He didn't mention the deadline until now. How was I to know?"

"He told you to hurry up in Waker, but no," Dark shook his head, "no, you had only one thing in mind in Waker. _Zelda Harkinian_." He jabbed his finger into Link's chest. "You didn't think to tell us that he had exploded, and why. We could have avoided this."

"He has never given us a hard deadline before," Link argued. "There was no way to know he meant―"

"If anything happens to Aryll," Dark said, eyes full of enraged terror, "it will be your fault."

"We're going to get her back," Link swore. "If we can't make it, I'll― I'll just kill Dragmire."

"Great," Dark said, pessimistically. "So on top of making you a thief, he can make you a murderer."

"What do you want from me?" Link raged.

" _Fix it_ ," Dark said. Then, he strode to the door.

"Where are you going?" Link asked, sharply.

"OUT."

And Dark slammed the door behind him.

Link fell back into a chair, all strength leaving his body. Numbly, he brought his hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then his eyes, and then he wiped the tears.

Seven weeks. Skies. It was impossible. Especially now that Zelda was working against him. She would never trust him again. How was he to retrieve the Goddess Harp now?

Foolishly, instinctively, he felt the urge to ask Zelda herself. She was bright. She was good. She would understand.

But she had been firm. No amount of convincing would change her mind now.

And still, Link found himself pushing himself to his feet, ambling to the door, walking down the stairs to the small telegraph station at the foot of the building.

 _What rituals are performed on full moon of fall equinox?_ He asked. She knew prophecies and legends. Perhaps she had an idea. Then, to soften the communication, he added, _Thinking of you always. L._

Then, helplessly, he sat by the electric board and waited, hoping she would reply.

Unbidden, the memory returned. The boy fisherman. Chasing the light on the ocean. The old man drowning. The story wasn't just a tale of foolhardy hope. It was also a tale of failure. And Link was becoming all too intimately acquainted with failure.

He watched the sun's rays move across the wall, bright orange and slowly dimming.

But no reply came.

* * *

 **It's okay, Link, it will _all_ be worth it.**

 **Also, no robberies today! Don't worry, we'll be back at it tomorrow.**

 **This chapter is shorter than usual, but I think making it longer artificially would feel weird.**

 **I need to get on to planning the final chapters. There are a lot of tiny things I want to include before it's over, and I know it doesn't look like it, but we're already a mere five chapters away from the end (!). The final stretch is always really tough to get right, because I'm not creating new plotlines anymore. I'm trying to finish them in a satisfying way.**

 **Friendly neighbourhood PSA: For those of you who want to savour Breath of the Wild, don't go looking for information on it anymore unless you trust the source absolutely. There are spoilers going around that could ruin your enjoyment. Also, YouTube comments are a cesspool of scum and villainy, so proceed at your own risk.**


	11. Lanayru

**I wasn't looking forward to writing this chapter, because until tonight I was completely unsure of which point of view to use (Link's or Zelda's), and, by extension, how to reach the necessary plot points and what general feeling I wanted to convey.**

 **But I'm glad with how it turned out after all!**

* * *

LANAYRU

Late summer was beginning to turn in Lanayru, Zelda mused, or perhaps it simply always felt a bit less stifling here. The gentle cool breeze that blew from the north always felt fresh, carrying with it the scent of water, of trees, of soft grasses, of little torrents and meltwater.

Zora's Domain, besides, as Hyrule's second largest fresh water basin after Lake Hylia, was naturally shielded from the heat, sitting as it did at the very base of Snowpeak. It was here that Zelda arrived, determined to find answers.

"The repository is this way," Ruto Watters said. The Domain was a wholly pedestrian city, the only transportation being the small watercraft that passed them by, ferrying people, goods and livestock. As such, it was astoundingly clean, and the air smelled only of water, the refreshing breeze carrying a spray of mist from the hundreds of waterfalls that tumbled from the surrounding cliffs.

"I wish I had known to visit this place earlier," Zelda said. "It is absolutely beautiful."

The buildings were elegant, with tall, narrow windows, moss growing on the roof tiles and elegant spiral mosaic patterns traced on their walls.

Ruto Watters beamed. "Now you know. Please, this way."

Ruto was Lady of the Domain, a merely honorific title that had landed on her shoulders through tradition. Lanayru, like all provinces, had its own local government, and she did not participate. She was instead an avid collector of art, a patron for an entire guild of sculptors and painters.

The guild repository stored a vast amount of treasures, not the least of which were manuscripts that went back to the earliest written histories of Hylia. Here, one could find one of five original copies of the Epic of the Sword, a fanciful tale that spoke of the sky peoples, described their descent to the earth and mentioned a great Sealing ceremony. There was no doubt that, though the Epic was one of the oldest Hylian legends known today, it had not been the first ever told. Those legends, Zelda knew, would forever be lost to the aeons, having had no enterprising bard willing to put them to paper before they faded.

Ruto opened the door to the archive, and Zelda gasped audibly, which earned her a warm laugh.

It was a trove, with shelves upon shelves of carefully preserved sheets, books and scrolls.

"Oh," Zelda said, overcome with emotion. "I had no idea."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Ruto said, with pride. "The cool air in Zora's Domain keeps the collection from heat damage, and we never open windows or doors, to preserve it from humidity."

"Is the archive I'm looking for somewhere here?"

"I've pulled it out," Ruto said, leading Zelda to a small examination table. A browned, worn leather manuscript was laid out, the colours of its inks faded. There was no doubt that, in another time, the colours had been bright, and the line work hinted at great craftsmanship.

The Book of Legends was less a book and more a short manifest. Zelda donned white archivist's gloves and delicately lifted the front cover, heart beating as it always did when she handled very old items.

"The illuminations are stunning," she observed, and Ruto nodded.

"The green you see is Green of Farore," the Lady said, her finger hovering over a figure of a boy in green. "An ink that largely faded in use with the opening of trade routes to the west and the rise of the cheaper, brighter inks."

"There's so much of it," Zelda said, softly, as though her breath might reduce the entire artifact to dust.

"It was a beautiful edition," Ruto agreed. "There's even a hint of Nayru Blue on a later page, but that one hasn't withstood the test of time with as much durability."

"And you say this manuscript describes a ritual?" Zelda asked. "Your telegram―"

Ruto nodded. "As soon as you asked me about a full moon and an equinox, I immediately thought of this book. On a later page," she continued, gently turning the leaves over, "here. See this passage? _The Evenday Moon_." Then, deciphering the old Hylian, she read, " _All hallows gathered, the moon on high, the three together, and eternal life_."

"Eternal life?" Zelda echoed, skeptical. "That seems unlikely. And I can't make sense of the rest."

Ruto pursed her lips. "Well, I may be mistranslating. This word here, _eternal_." She seemed to look for her words, then explained, "Old Hylian makes no distinction between continuity and repetition, provided it goes on indefinitely. This could also mean _a cycle of life_ , but one that goes on forever, you understand?"

Zelda nodded. "Yes, I see. And the hallows?"

Ruto shook her head. "Now there's no telling about that one. Certainly one can expect that ancient Hylians had no shortage of holy artifacts, but as for what they were exactly…" She shrugged.

Zelda peered at the book. Then, to her host, she said, "Thank you, Ruto. I will leaf through this one."

Ruto nodded, then placed another book next to her. This one was much more recent, properly bound in modern materials.

"This is my Old Hylian grammar," Ruto explained. "Hopefully it will be useful."

"Infinitely," Zelda said, smiling. "Thank you."

Translating was arduous, but Zelda took her time. As she leafed back towards the front of the book, she came across a few interesting illustrations, though the text was hard to decipher. There were some repeated passages that read like a refrain, and multiple mentions of _the three_ , whoever they were. They were people, Zelda concluded, but there was little more information about them. It seemed that the reader was expected to know exactly who _the three_ were already.

It was not surprising, Zelda concluded. Three was a highly religious number, the number of the goddesses. Power, Wisdom, Courage.

As the afternoon progressed and the light changed in the room, Zelda found she was more and more tired, and her eyes kept drifting back to the highly detailed illustrations.

Which was when the Harp caught her eye.

The Goddess Harp. Zelda was almost sure of it. She peered closer, then shook her head. No, surely not.

But as she leafed to the next illustration, she was surprised to see an Ocarina. It looked beautifully like the Ocarina of Time that her father had entrusted to her, and its colour was vivid. So, this was the Nayru Blue ink.

Then, a page later, one of the characters wore Majora's Mask. Albeit a highly stylized one, it was distinctly hideous.

Something like dread crept into Zelda's stomach. On and on, the pages turned, and each illustration more unsettling than the next. Here, the Master Sword. There, the Harp of Ages and the Rod of Seasons. The Fused Shadows. The Wind Baton.

 _All hallows gathered_ , Zelda reflected. _The moon on high_.

 _Eternal life_ …

She leaned away from the table, her hands lifting away from the manuscript.

Reason prevailed, she assured herself. It was ridiculous. Besides, it was a throwaway line in a book so old that no one would know of its existence.

And Link! Link was no historian. He had admitted so himself.

For a moment Zelda hated that she was even entertaining his telegrammed question. She had certainly not responded, and in fact she had intended to dismiss the message entirely, to not even read it.

But here she was, away from her father again, looking into full moon rituals. She was at the man's beck and call, though he didn't know it.

Well, if she was doing all this in vain, he didn't have to know.

But this… Zelda went through the last few pages, but found no new illustration, except an image of the Triforce under a full moon, with half the page depicting daylight, and the other half depicting nighttime. It was infuriating.

It could be a coincidence, Zelda considered. But then, the smart thing for a thief to do would have been to steal whatever was worth most, and Link had not. In fact, Link's patron had overpaid for the Rod of Seasons and the Harp of Ages.

Why else?

Link was no historian, Zelda reflected, but perhaps his patron…

She shut the book and removed her gloves, striding away from the table in search of Ruto.

The Lady was in her office, carefully noting down the text of a scroll. When Zelda entered, she looked up.

"Well? Anything interesting?"

Zelda shut the door behind her. "Are there any transcripts of that book on the market?"

Ruto shook her head. "No, the only transcripts are here, in Zora's Domain."

Zelda pursed her lips. "So, you have a registry of everyone who has ever accessed them?"

"Well, yes, but we purge any records older than three years," Ruto said, curious.

"I only need to know about this year."

"Why?" Ruto asked, standing, and heading to a secondary office, where thick filing drawers stocked entire months' worth of visitors.

"I think someone has visited with interests similar to mine."

Ruto shrugged. "Perhaps. Let's see. The Book of Legends was studied by… hm, these are students. Perfectly normal. I have a priest of Din here―"

"Anyone of status? Wealth?"

Ruto shook her head. "Not that I― Oh, now maybe this." She pulled out a reading card. "I have Ganondorf Dragmire here. Profession: politician."

But Zelda knew that already. The very name Dragmire evoked unpleasant memories. She recalled her father, in his prime, working until late into the night, working every day, all to collect proof of corruption.

Ganondorf Dragmire. When her father's proof had shown itself to be shaky at best, when it became obvious that Dragmire was good at hiding his tracks―

Well, the illness had struck, and work had ceased.

But could it be?

Skies, it could.

"Thank you, Ruto," Zelda said. "You have been of great help. I will not forget you when fundraising season returns."

"And that," Ruto Watters said, pleasantly, "is all I ask."

Zelda excused herself. Her mind was swimming in speculation. It was almost too much to process. Ganondorf Dragmire was a man of such power and wealth that there was no doubt he could afford to pay Link and his siblings a fortune to steal from the one magistrate who had tried his best to indict him for corruption.

It was neat and simple. It felt true.

Until she considered the ritual. Did Dragmire really believe in nonsense of the sort?

Well, Link had warned her he was dangerous. Perhaps his mind wasn't fully functional. Delusions might be the least of the problem.

Zelda entered the telegraph station and asked one of the clerks whether any messages had come through for her from her home station in Faron. As the clerk excused herself to check, Zelda mentally tallied the artifacts that remained in her possession. The Goddess Harp. The Ocarina of Time. So few.

Instinctively, she sent out a hasty message to Midna, and, through her, to the constables she had hired:

 _Next targets Goddess Harp & Ocarina of Time. Protect at all costs. Z.N.H._

Satisfied that this was the best she could achieve, Zelda exhaled. It would have to suffice, for now, at least until she returned to Faron.

The clerk returned with her messages. The first was from Midna, and filled her with helplessness:

 _Goddess Harp gone. Dark Forester. Traced and arrested him. Harp nowhere to be found. Presumably with Link. Cannot find him. M.B._

Zelda dropped into a chair.

Well. So much for the forewarning. Perhaps it wasn't too late to save the Ocarina, though. And if Midna and her constables had managed to arrest Dark, it was at least a big blow to Link's mobility and options. There was that, at least.

The second telegram was from Impa Shades, Chief Officer of their hired constables.

 _Have arrested one of the thieves. Have performed summary interrogation but no results. Will continue tomorrow. Respectfully― I.S._

If Dark had even a sliver of Link Forester's ability to hide the truth, then Impa Shades' efforts were most likely in vain. Still, it was good to get confirmation on the arrest.

The last message was from Aveil, her father's nurse, and it ruined Zelda's day:

 _Situation critical. Father direly ill. Have transported to Castleton General Hospital. Recommend haste. Please return for final goodbyes. Week to live at most. Aveil_

Zelda stared at the message for a long time. Final goodbyes. One week to live.

He had been fine when she had left! She was sure he had eaten properly, that he was getting better―

"No," she whispered.

A new emotion began to churn inside her, growing slowly at first, then manifesting like it was real, a deep-seated, irrational madness that foamed until it filled her. The pieces of truth were flying at a steady pace inside her mind now, occasionally coming together and then breaking before she could make perfect sense of them.

But something pricked at her mind steadily. The picture was becoming clearer.

 _Ganondorf Dragmire_.

Ganondorf Dragmire had been the missing key. He was the pin that tied everything together.

Zelda shut her eyes to focus.

How convenient that her father's investigations and case of corruption had been halted so suddenly. How unusually vindictive that Ganondorf Dragmire would strip her of her heirlooms. How utterly cruel to send a man so kind to do the deeds as a proxy.

But more importantly, how practical that Zelda had been forced to be away so often recently, and how strange that Zelda had not thought about poison, when the symptoms her father displayed only got worse when she was away…

"Aveil," Zelda realized.

She turned back to the telegraph post, and sent out a message to the Castleton General Hospital.

 _URGENT. Remove Aveil Knives from Lionel Nohansen Harkinian room. Illness not a wasting disease ― check for poison. Will be in Castleton by midnight. Zelda Nohansen Harkinian ― daughter._

Then, she sent off a similar message to Impa Shades:

 _URGENT. Castleton General Hospital. Father being poisoned. Dark Forester can wait. Aveil Knives the culprit. Help. Z.N.H._

And finally, she sent a message to Link Forester, the anxiety making her fingers shake as she typed.

 _We must talk. Meet me in Castleton. Z._

Then, dropping a large tip in the telegrapher's box, she ran out the door.

* * *

 **Things are beginning to move faster! For one, with Dark arrested and Aryll gone, Link is now utterly helpless, and for two, Zelda finally sees things with some clarity.**

 **I don't remember who exactly, but a few reviewers wondered whether artifacts in this story had any "magic" still in them, whether characters could feel it or not. I suppose we will have to see. I haven't decided one hundred percent yet.**

 **On the one hand, with magic, we validate a rebirth "cycle" in this story, which is one of the staples of _The Legend of Zelda_. On the other hand, without magic, the story remains about people and what they can and cannot do, without divine intervention.**

 **What about you? Do you think all these artifacts should have magic in them? Maybe you can help me weigh the pros and the cons. :) Let me know before tomorrow evening (the 27th), and I will lean towards the majority. It will not change the final outcome of the story in any significant way, so don't worry about ruining anything.**


	12. Castleton

**Look, I made it again, even if just barely. I could pass out from exhaustion. I'll go do that in a second.**

* * *

CASTLETON

The equinox was two days away and Dark was in jail, awaiting formal charges, and Link was no closer to the Ocarina of Time.

This was mostly because Zelda carried it on her person at all times, and Link wasn't sure that he had the strength or the courage to face her.

Which was why he paced in front the Castleton General Hospital, back and forth, wondering. He couldn't see any constables, but he wouldn't have put it past her to post some around the building, dressed as civilians. After all, he considered, she had made sure Dark was arrested shortly after he'd transferred the Goddess Harp― thank the skies for that. Or at least, Midna Black had, but Link was certain Zelda knew and approved.

Something inside him festered. A rumination that had been more and more difficult to control, a mess of resentment, desperation and desire.

He wanted to hate Zelda for what she did and what she had done, but to resent her would be to forget his own crimes, his own role in her actions. To resent her would be to give up on his own morality. At the same time, time was growing short. Too short. He'd sworn to himself and to his brother that he would find a way to save Aryll. Now he was coming up against a wall, and the deadline closed in, and desperation was beginning to make itself crushing.

And then, of course, desire. If he let his mind wander to that, Link knew, he'd waste more time still. And a waste it was, because Zelda's silence, save for her unexpected summons last week, had been more telling than anything else. Pining for her was as foolish as chasing moonlight.

And yet, here he was, pulled despite himself.

There was no way to enter the hospital unseen. Not from the street, not from the back, not from the emergency truck doors. It was bustling at all hours, Link knew; he'd been watching for two days.

He was now fairly certain that her summons was not a trap. Or, if it was, it was the best laid trap of all time.

Again, his mind went to the building. A hospital. He hoped, but knew it was an ominous sign. Zelda's father, the old man, had changed his life once. Could Link face him now, after what he had done to him and his daughter?

What remaining shreds of pride were stamped down. Aryll. Aryll was all that mattered. Link had suffered plenty of indignities to protect his siblings already. What was one more, in the grand scheme of things, if it meant Aryll could be safe?

Bracing himself for whatever came, Link straightened his shoulders, pulled his hat lower over his eyes, and crossed the street to the hospital.

Finding Nohansen was easy enough. The nurses were polite, and still no sign of constables. This did little to soften Link's vigilance, but it was a good start. Following instructions, he climbed the stairs to the third floor, trying to control the twist in his gut.

Would she be here? He wondered. What would he find in that room?

Inhaling and exhaling softly, if only to calm his nerves, Link braced himself and entered.

The room was dimly lit, a mere trickle of daylight coming in through a narrow slit in the drawn curtains. In the only bed, Lionel Nohansen lay, pale, deeply asleep. Looking upon him again, Link felt a pang in his chest. The resemblance with Zelda was undeniable― perhaps the eyes, the eyebrows, or the general line of the nose. Link had always remembered the old man, but he had never considered how Zelda resembled him, down to the crinkling at the corner of her eyes.

Then, he turned to look at Zelda. Her head rested on her folded arms at the foot of her father's bed. She was sleeping, too, although it seemed like the most uncomfortable position in the world. How many days or nights had she spent here, waiting for her father's death?

Link lifted her coat from the back of the chair where she had placed it, and wrapped it on her shoulders.

Her hand grabbed his, halting all movement. Then, she groggily lifted her head, and peered at him, half asleep.

Link licked his lips nervously. Skies, but the pull this woman had on him! Even half asleep, she managed to look like the most perfect creature he'd ever known.

"Link?" She asked, softly, and nearly brought him to his knees in prayer. His name on her lips was good to hear.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said, whispering.

She shook her head, straightening somewhat. "No, not at all." She blinked a few times, as though to get her bearings. Then she said, "I expected you to come faster."

Link said nothing. He said nothing of his search for Dark, said nothing of his attempts to steal the Ocarina from her, said nothing of his turmoil. Every step had been a failure, as far as he was concerned.

"How is he?" He asked, instead, nodding to her father.

She smiled tiredly. "Safe, at last, though I still hate that it took me so long to understand why he was sick."

"What do you mean?"

Zelda watched her father's chest rise and fall. Then, her eyes, cool blue and perfectly in control, turned to look at him. "Ganondorf Dragmire."

Link felt as though she had punched him in the gut. "What?" Where had she heard the name? Had Dark talked?

"He poisoned my father," Zelda said, fiercely. "Placed one of his own people in my household, under my very nose, and conspired to poison my father until he died. He also," she added, "sent you to retrieve ancient artifacts from me in order to perform a ritual for eternal life."

This was all too much to take in. "What?" He said again.

"We have him, Link," Zelda said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "It will all be alright. You don't have to steal anymore."

"Why would you think that? Did the poisoner talk?"

"Not yet," Zelda said, darkly. "But she will. And when she does, in combination with the entirety of my father's work, I will have enough to ask Officer Impa Shades to perform an arrest."

Link crumbled into the chair next to her. "When?"

"A few months ought to be enough to bring him to trial," Zelda said, smiling with satisfaction. Then, she turned to him, pleading: "Link, please say you will testify against him. It will exonerate you and your siblings."

"Actually," Link said, the words thick in his mouth, "that's why I'm here."

"Dark," Zelda guessed, sympathetically. "I've asked Officer Shades to look at the bigger fish. I know if you testify, he will be released―"

"No, not Dark," Link said. He had no doubt that, if needed, he would be able to break Dark out of prison. Dark had all the time in the world. But his sister didn't. "Aryll."

"Aryll?" Zelda frowned. "But we haven't arrested her."

"Because Ganondorf Dragmire has her," Link said.

Zelda looked taken aback. " _Has_ her? Has her how?"

"Has her in his _vile clutches_ ," Link said, impatiently. "He gave Dark and I an ultimatum. We have until the equinox to retrieve all artifacts. Dark rushed in, he was careless, and your friend Midna caught him. Now if I don't complete the task, Aryll is done."

Zelda's expression darkened. "You came for the Ocarina."

"Of _course_ I did," Link said, curtly. "Zelda, her life is at stake."

Zelda sighed. She looked at her sleeping father. "I can't believe this."

"What do you mean?"

"I tell you that Dragmire is a bad person. I explain how he was having my father poisoned. And you're still doing everything you can to trick me. For money."

The accusations burned like hot coals. "For Aryll," he growled.

"I don't believe you," Zelda said, eyes bright. "You've spared nothing in your quest for fortune. I thought― I don't know what I thought." She scoffed. "Of course you're lying. You've been manipulating me with emotion all this time. Why did I think this time would be different?"

"Zelda―"

"Don't give me that tone," she hissed, standing, stepping away from him. "I gave you everything, and all I did not give, you took by guile or force. _Enough_."

"He has my _sister_ ," Link said, weighing every word emphatically.

"I don't _believe_ you," she said. Now he saw that her bright eyes were brimming with tears. "Link, please. Stop."

Now Link was angry. There was no doubt his anger was fueled with distress and panic. Aryll. Aryll. "Zelda," he said, "you can hate me all you like. For what it's worth, I had every intention of fixing it. I was going to tip the constables off, warn them that he had all of your stolen artifacts. I was going to fix it. But now, I can't."

The more he thought about it, the more terror flooded his gut. He had two days to convince Zelda. Or perhaps―

"I won't give you the Ocarina," Zelda said, sharply. "It's the only heirloom my father entrusted to me specifically. No sad story about your sister will convince me―"

"It's not the _only_ heirloom he entrusted to you," Link said, flatly, annoyed.

Zelda glared at him. "Of course it is. What are you talking about?"

"The necklace," Link said, angrily. "He gave you the ruby, years ago."

Zelda blinked, the surprise stunning her out of her impatience. Unthinking, her hand instantly went up to her collar line, absently. "How did you…? I didn't tell you that."

Link shot her an annoyed look. "You didn't, _he_ did." He nodded at her father, who still slept the sound restorative sleep of remission.

"He did?" Zelda echoed, incredulously. "What, when you visited him weekly?" The question was sarcastic. "I think I would remember if a man of _your_ standing were ever friends with my father."

Link crossed his arms. "Of course, princess," he said, as ironically as she had been. "But you see now that working for Dragmire let us live large." He motioned to his finely tailored clothes and his perfectly polished shoes. "Did you ever wonder why I or my siblings would ever leave such a comfortable life and accept our _standing_ in the first place?"

"What does that have to do with my ruby?" Zelda asked, frowning. "You're just changing the―"

"Years ago," Link said, "Ganondorf Dragmire sent me to take the ruby from your father. I had it in my hand. And your father begged me to leave it. To take everything else, but to leave the ruby. It was for his daughter, and he loved her so very much."

There was a change in Zelda's demeanour. Where she had been animated and angry before, she was suddenly subdued, eyes wide.

"Your father changed my life that day. I left Dragmire's skirts as soon as I could. We never looked back." Link scowled. "Until Dragmire found us. He is mad, Zelda," Link insisted. "And he has hate in him unlike anyone I have ever known. I swear to you," he continued, softening, "he does have my sister. And he will kill her in two days if I don't bring him the Ocarina."

With only a moment of actual hesitation, Link sighed, then knelt, to underscore his words. He brought his hands together, ignoring the shame of his pleading.

"Please," he begged.

For a long moment, Zelda seemed speechless. Her eyes went from his eyes to his clasped hands, then back to his face. Her mind appeared to be racing, as though she could not discern the truth from manipulation, as though she were questioning everything her gut had ever begged her to trust.

Then, startling them both, a raspy voice came from the bed. "Do it, my darling."

Zelda's voice caught in her throat. "Papa―" She stood, hurrying to her father's side. Link stood, and Lionel Nohansen met his gaze, albeit without much energy.

"Give him the Ocarina," Nohansen said. "What good is it in our collection if it cannot save a girl?"

"You believe him," Zelda said, and Link was sure he heard a note of admonishment.

"I do," Nohansen softly said. He observed Link for a long moment. "The man I see before me is not the boy I met on that night. That boy would not have begged for an instant, even to save his own life."

Link said nothing, his gaze as stony as he could keep it. In truth, he was at a loss for words, the private shame of his choices rising miserably.

"You were always too trusting," Zelda said, but she reached out to run her hand against her father's forehead fondly.

A moment passed. Then, she turned to look at Link.

"Fine," she said. "You will have the Ocarina."

Link almost felt his legs buckle under him, but before he could voice any gratitude, Zelda continued.

"On one condition."

"Anything," Link swore, earnestly, breathless with relief.

Lionel Nohansen chuckled, a low rumble that had no force, but a great deal of amusement in it. "Careful now, my boy. That promise is a rookie mistake where my daughter is concerned." Then, to his daughter, he said, "Don't, darling."

"No, Papa," Zelda said. "My condition is this: I will go with you."

Link's expression soured. Nohansen was protesting. But Zelda was resolute.

And Link decided he would never agree to anything again without knowing what it was first.

* * *

 **I'll proofread in the morning, if necessary. Right now my eyes aren't working― they keep closing.**

 **CAN YOU BELIEVE IT THOUGH? WE ARE THREE CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE END. What a ride!**

 **Also, I cannot believe how unanimous the votes were. Some magic it is, then. Very interesting. I thought things would be more divided, and in fact I expected the vote to swing the other way. Don't worry― in this case, the story will work nicely with either option.**

 **And now I need to think hard about my next two chapters. They will be following each other very closely as timeline is concerned, and there are a lot of plot points to cover. I'll go think on that. With my eyes closed!**


	13. Gerudo

**A lot of ground to cover in this chapter, so let's get started!**

* * *

GERUDO

Ganondorf Dragmire's mansion was even more excessively large than his Waker house, a thing Link had not thought possible. It was surrounded by an estate of sand and palm trees, isolated from Gerudo City by miles of dunes and red rock. They had traveled by day and night, their car barely finding traction on the sands that had occasionally invaded the narrow road. The sun had finally set, and the largest moon Link had ever seen was low on the horizon, a pale reminder of his urgency.

The gates opened for them, and Link was unnerved by how empty the estate seemed to be. When meeting Dragmire, he usually had to contend with at least Onox or Byrne, but neither of them appeared to be present. A single employee waved them through, and when they parked in front of the doors, the front door was already open.

Zelda peered out the window at that long shaft of warm light, pulling her shawl in against the rapidly cooling desert air. "There doesn't seem to be anyone at all."

"I don't like it," Link said, softly. "I'd much rather you remained in the car―"

"I go where the Ocarina goes," Zelda said, fiercely.

They exchanged glares for a brief moment, until Link relented. "Fine, but Aryll is the priority."

Zelda raised a brow, opened her car door and stepped out. Link grabbed the wheel and leaned his forehead against it. All he needed now was courage.

"Are you coming?" Zelda asked.

"Yes," he said, bracing himself. Then, mustering all his strength, he opened his car door and stepped out, too.

"It will be alright," Zelda said, softly, as he joined her in front of the steps, their eyes fixed on the gaping doorjamb, their shoes on the pavement bathed in the light that poured out.

"If anything happens," Link said, around the lump in his throat, "you take Aryll and you run. Don't wait for me."

"It won't come to that," Zelda said, nervously.

Then, Link felt her hand slip into his. Surprised, he looked down at their joined hands, and Zelda's resolute face. She was peering up at him in the moonlight, beautiful as ever, her hair blowing in the slight breeze, her dress perfectly prim―

The urge to kiss her came over him again, but he stifled it.

With some effort, he said, "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."

Zelda set her jaw, but her eyes held no resentment or anger. She squeezed his hand.

Right. Time to go.

They ascended the steps one by one, deliberately, and walked into the mansion.

The inside was possibly even more lavish than the outside, which really made Link uncomfortable. Rare tapestries and carpets, a dark wood that he was fairly sure had been imported from someplace far away, paintings of all sorts― the level of wealth displayed here bordered on the obscene.

"He's waiting for you," Onox said, stepping out of a side room. Byrne Claw stood right behind him.

"We thought you wouldn't come," Byrne said, impassively.

"I have the Ocarina," Link said, and Zelda produced the bag she carried with her. "Where is my sister?"

"Go," Onox said, motioning to the shut double doors in front of them. "He's waiting."

Waiting for what? But Link knew it was pointless to ask for clarification. Even if either of Dragmire's goons knew what their master was up to, they would say nothing.

Zelda tugged on his hand, and they crossed the foyer quietly, under the watchful gaze of both Onox and Byrne.

The heavy wooden door made little sound as they opened it, and they stepped into the room.

At first, Link had to blink to adjust to the darkness. After the brightness of the hall, this room was almost completely unlit, save for the moonlight that poured in front the windows at the far side, and a series of braziers that smouldered around the room.

Ganondorf Dragmire stood in the middle of a circle of smaller braziers, dressed as grandiosely as he had been able, with pristine clothes and a flawless cut. Next to him, Aryll sat, looking absolutely miserable, but otherwise unhurt.

At the sound of their entrance, Dragmire turned, and Link saw the altar behind him, adorned with all the objects he'd been sent to steal.

"Ah, finally," Dragmire said. "And not a minute too soon, as usual."

Aryll looked so relieved that Link began to think she had been about to lose her head.

"I've brought the Ocarina," Link said, firmly. "So release her."

"Naturally," Dragmire said, pleasantly. He eyed both Link and Zelda. "But I don't see it."

Zelda dug into her purse and retrieved the Ocarina. Ganondorf Dragmire's eyes glinted with interest.

"My dearest Zelda," he said, with a warm tone that sent a shiver down Link's spine. "I am so glad you could join us."

"Release Aryll," Zelda said, pretending not to hear his acknowledgement.

"Certainly," Dragmire said. "Aryll, my dear, if you wouldn't mind?"

Aryll stood, and Ganondorf Dragmire untied her hands, as Link tensed, ready for any sudden change of mood. But Dragmire merely shoved her towards them.

"I believe," he said, as Aryll stumbled into Link's arms, shaking with relief, "that we had a deal?"

Link untangled himself from Aryll's hug and took the bag from Zelda. To both of them, he said, "Go, wait for me outside." Then, he handed the Ocarina to Dragmire.

But as the large man's hand closed around the instrument, he muttered a soft, "No."

All three peered at Dragmire, whose expression had changed. It was frosty now.

"No," he said, softly. "Your sister may go. Your family's payment is outside. She can take it and leave. But you two," his eyes darted from Link to Zelda, and back, "I am not done talking to you."

"What more is there to discuss?" Link asked, even as Zelda took Aryll by the arm and encouraged her to leave. "You've got everything you want."

The door shut behind Aryll, and then they were plunged into semi-darkness again. Ganondorf Dragmire was pensive. He eyed them both with curiosity.

"Is it possible that you truly don't know?"

Link took an unconscious step forward, feeling the softness in Dragmire's tone like the calm before the hurricane. He'd been on the receiving end often enough to know, and if Dragmire lashed out, it was best for Zelda to stay behind him.

"Don't know what?" Zelda asked, her voice a little more meek than usual.

"You don't hear a thing," Dragmire said, impressed. "You can't hear their voices?"

"What voices?" Link asked, wishing for the entire conversation to end, hoping to leave, and soon.

"The voices of all the other Links, all the other Zeldas," Ganondorf said, as though it were obvious. "I hear all the past iterations of me. In fact, looking at you now, I feel their almost overwhelming rage." He placed the Ocarina gently on the altar. In the moonlight, the artifacts looked benign, uselessly decorative.

"I don't understand," Zelda said.

Dragmire turned to them. "They hate you. All those other selves. They had many names, but we were always we. And you were always you." He smiled, but the smile felt forced. "Sometimes, Link, my boy, merely looking at you was enough to make me fly into a rage. But I raised you, still. I knew you would be useful to me one day. I overcame the hatred, took you in." His smile soured, turning into a grimace. "Then, of course, you betrayed me anyway."

"I―"

Dragmire raised a hand to command silence, shaking his head. "No, don't say anything. It was inevitable. They warned me you would." His eyes turned back to the moonlight. Link wasn't sure what time it was, but it was possibly getting closer to midnight.

"But why?" Zelda asked. "Why hate us?"

"Because you _stopped_ me!" Now Ganondorf Dragmire was transformed, his expression of rage fully realized, the snarl on his face deforming his features. For a moment, he looked like another man entirely. Not even a man. A beast. A monster. Zelda grabbed Link's sleeve reflexively.

"None of that is real," Link said, slowly. "We never did anything―"

"Silence," Dragmire said. Now, his voice was low, a mad ramble that preceded another outburst, Link was sure: "Demise, they once called me. Ganon the Deceiver. Ganon the Plague. I hear their voices, I feel the wounds they suffered. We wanted land. We wanted water. We wanted to help our people. And the void called to me, as potent as all three goddesses together, a way out."

"None of this," Link insisted, "has anything to do with us. We're leaving."

"You're not going anywhere," Ganondorf Dragmire said, simply. "Not until you see what you have helped me to do."

"What do you mean?" Zelda asked.

The moonlight _changed_.

"It begins," Dragmire said, as the light became deeper, redder. "A perfect moon of Din." His face broke into a mad smile, his arms outstretching in what appeared to be welcome. "This is it," he said. He turned to them, eyes full of delighted insanity. "And you helped me do it! After this, there will be no more voices, no more division. We will be one― One of mind! We will be eternal!"

As though responding to the elation in Ganondorf Dragmire's voice, the artifacts on the table began to glow faintly, catching both Link and Zelda by surprise.

"Yes," Dragmire said, frantic, shaking. "The moon on high, and the three together― Of course you were going to be here," he said, talking to himself, "you were always meant to be here, with me, at this ascension. You don't remember, but I do. I do."

"Link―"

"We should go," Link whispered.

"No," Zelda said, clutching his sleeve. "Link, I don't think we're meant to let this happen."

"We're not meant to _do_ anything," Link swore, "he's insane. Prophecies and legends, they're all just stories."

Zelda turned to look him in the eye. She seemed resolute, though her lips were quivering. "I have to…" She raised a hand to her forehead, and Link saw the mark of the Triforce glowing there faintly, a single triangle brighter than the others. Zelda had apparently not noticed, because she seemed plagued by a headache. "I just know I have to…"

"You don't _have_ to do anything," Link insisted. He grabbed her by the shoulders, and was startled to notice the _mark_ on his hand, too. Stunned into confused silence, he barely reacted when Zelda brushed him off.

"Please," Zelda said, striding forward, "this is not the way―"

But Ganondorf Dragmire was not paying attention to her at all. The artifacts on the table were glowing brighter, and he stood before them expectantly, arms outstretched, ready to receive whatever gift it was he expected.

"Zelda―"

"Now!" Ganondorf said, imperiously.

"Don't touch him," Link said, grabbing Zelda and pulling her back. "He is insane, Zelda, he's delusional―"

But Zelda stared, transfixed at the artifacts on the altar, their light becoming brighter and brighter… Until they seemed to stagnate.

Then, in a few seconds, the artifacts' light faded, and they became inert once again. The red moonlight cast them in a hellish glow.

"Too much time," Zelda said, eyes unfocused. "They must have lost―"

"NO!"

Link and Zelda jumped. Ganondorf Dragmire had erupted in a rage. Without thinking, he grabbed the Rod of Seasons and threw it at the wall. It bounced ineffectually, clattering to the floor. Then, Dragmire seized his own skull, pulling at his red hair.

"I did it right," he swore. "I had everything―" Then, he paused, as though transfixed. His eyes went down to the mark of the Triforce on his hand, the top triangle glowing bright. At length, he said, "That's it." Softly, to no one in particular. "You're right."

"Zelda…" Link said, dread seeping into his gut.

But Ganondorf Dragmire turned to them, his eyes wide, insane, completely wild. "I need the pieces."

"Zelda, run!"

But Dragmire was quicker. He grabbed Link by the collar, shoving him away. As Link landed, the braziers toppled, coals tumbling onto the carpet, and a tongue of flame erupted in spilled oil, igniting the carpet.

Swift as a viper, Ganondorf Dragmire seized Zelda's arm, hard enough to bruise, and she cried out.

"It won't hurt if I do it quick," Dragmire promised. Grabbing a knife from the altar, he raised it, a distorted smile on his face. "I'll do it quick―"

Link scrambled for something, anything, grabbed the first heavy object he found, and brought it crashing down on Ganondorf Dragmire's head. The potted plant broke, and Zelda was released. She scrambled backwards, terrified.

Turning to Link, Ganondorf Dragmire looked completely changed, the insanity having overtaken him utterly.

 _Ganon_. The thought came to Link's mind, unbidden, a faint recognition that faded away as quickly as it had formed. The fire was spreading behind him, the dry air of Gerudo having made the floor woods, tapestries and carpets particularly flammable. The fire spread uncomfortably fast.

Then, out of nowhere, Zelda hurled an oil lamp at Dragmire, and the fire overcame him. It flared like a sudden brazier, and the politician howled. He stamped out the fire, but did not abandon his quarry. Zelda's attempt had been in vain.

Something inside Link was taking over now, a mindless rush of adrenaline that screamed at him to find a weapon, _anything_.

"You think you can stop this," Dragmire said, heaving, as he recovered and began to move towards him again. "But you are delusional. You stand in my realm now."

Link sprinted behind the altar, seizing the first thing that he could find, then he shouted, "Run, Zelda!"

Suddenly, a flare, and it seemed the entire room was in flames. Peering around the altar, Link saw that the fire had caught on curtains and furniture, licking and devouring.

Ganondorf Dragmire suddenly appeared in his field of vision, and Link lifted his weapon, blocking the swipe of Dragmire's knife.

The Master Sword. Triumph faintly echoed in Link's heart, its source unknown, distant, like the memory of a ghost, and he shook it off, stepping back, away from his enemy.

The fire was spreading too fast. The smoke was thickening, and he vaguely heard the shouts of Dragmire's lackeys, somewhere beyond the brazier. But Link's prime concern was the madman that lumbered towards him, apparently determined to give him the same treatment as the one he intended for Zelda.

For a moment, Link considered just running for it, but he had a vague notion that turning his back on Dragmire was a bad idea.

The smoke was thick enough to burn his eyes. Link coughed.

Suddenly, Ganondorf was upon him, lunging. Link swung the sword without thinking, and the blow was glancing at best, knocking him off balance, nicking Dragmire's cheek and little else.

Then, with a single blow, Dragmire knocked Link to the floor, the blow so powerful he was sure it rendered him unconscious for a few seconds. When he reopened his eyes, dazed, stunned, the entire world was spinning.

The giant's breathing was harsh, laboured, but he apparently hadn't lost any of his strength, despite several nasty, blistering burns all over his arms and back. But he was blinded by smoke or almost, and he was throwing hits without precision, a wild haymaker, such that Link weakly crawled backwards, dodging as well as he could.

" _Run_ , Zelda!" He shouted, though with the croak of his voice in the smoke and the growing roar of the fire, it was hard to determine whether she heard him.

" _Maggot_ ," Ganondorf Dragmire roared, as intimidating as the fire itself, and suddenly Link's sword was gone, knocked out of his hands. The giant man raised his fist, ready to pummel him, and Link could feel his energy failing, the desperation and slow asphyxiation making him imprecise, like a drunk man who couldn't find his own feet.

The blow found his temple, knocking him to the ground again, dazing him. The second blow came to his ear, and he reflexively curled up, covering his head, but the hit was confusing and everything swam.

"I will kill you," Ganondorf Dragmire vowed hoarsely, his eyes red and wide as a madman's. His large fist unfurled long enough to curl around Link's neck, and Link saw his will to kill, helpless to stop him, like so many other moments of his childhood.

Suddenly, Link was only a child again, helpless, weak, afraid, and he wanted to weep, to beg―

Until suddenly, the politician's skull split open. The surprise seemed to stun them both. Dragmire tilted sideways, partially crushing Link.

The blood from the man's forehead spurted onto Link's shirt, warm and wet. The shock on Ganondorf Dragmire's bloody face echoed his own. Link scurried out from under the massive corpse, and Ganondorf Dragmire turned slowly, in pure confusion, the Master Sword still gruesomely protruding from his head, to look at Zelda, standing over them.

Then, he collapsed fully, dying as he fell to the slowly burning carpet.

Zelda grabbed Link's arm and pulled him up. "We have to go!"

He stumbled to his feet, following her back to the door, like a drunk man. The air was growing rarer and she was growing weaker, too, though a sliver of light between the dark billows of fire gave them hope.

But a final duty called to him. "No―" He untangled himself. His eyes sought Ganondorf Dragmire's prone form in vain, invisible as it was, beyond the inferno. "I have to―"

"You don't have to _do_ anything," Zelda pleaded. "Come!"

Link's mind was swimming, a result of smoke inhalation and multiple blows to the head, no doubt. In that moment, with the soot on her face and the wild terror in her eyes, she was beautiful.

He grabbed her face between his bloody hands, and pressed his forehead against hers. The pulse in his mind was insistent. He had to go back, he had to―

"I love you," he rasped, barely audible over the roar of the fire. "Protect Aryll."

Then, shoving her through the door, he turned. Stupidly, desperately, he threw himself back through the flames… and to certain death.

* * *

 **Oh no.**

 **Just in case, and because I occasionally do translation work for Canadian firefighting associations, which makes me, like, a total _expert_ , here's the deal: the appropriate protocol to follow in case of a fire is to not run back into it, mkay?**

 **I've had the idea of this chapter for years. Murder in the inferno. I'm glad I could put it in here and make it fit fairly well. I think. I mean, this chapter could be a complete mess and I won't know until I've taken a step back.**

 **Now. Let's talk about magic. I followed the (unanimous!) vote and made magic a thing, albeit a weakened thing. Not just within artifacts, but within the three Triforce wielders themselves. And I thought it was both interesting and tragic that Ganon would be the only one suffering from the echoes of his predecessors. In both Link and Zelda, all that history only manifests as helpful instincts. But in Ganon, the hate makes everything worse, tangible, intolerable. Maybe he's a sympathetic character, worthy of pity. Maybe.**

 **Okay now, excuse me, I have to fastidiously and compulsively refresh my Switch preorder page. Two chapters to go!**


	14. The Desert

**HAH! I MADE IT! JUST IN TIME!**

 **No excuses for being so late today, except that this chapter was hard to write.**

 **Hey, we're still in Gerudo. Let's pick up where we left off.**

* * *

THE DESERT

"Link!" Zelda cried, staring into the maw of the inferno. She hesitated, caught on the line between primal fear and overwhelming concern. Skies, what was he thinking?

"Zelda," Aryll coughed, grabbing her arm, "where is he?"

Aryll. Protect Aryll. Zelda's eyes went from the youngest Forester to the hell inside the hall, and good sense took over. This, she decided, the agony of her decision making her heart ache, this she could do.

And she would come back for Link. No matter what.

Inside the hall, glass broke, somewhere beyond the smoke and the flames. Night air rushed in, stoking the fire, and a flare blew them backwards. Both Aryll and Zelda cried out, Zelda reaching out to embrace Aryll, to protect her.

Now, the brazier was growing intolerable. Smoke billowed all around them, black, acrid, burning. The flames were starting to make the carpet at their feet smoulder.

Time to go.

Zelda grabbed Aryll's hand, raising her arm against the heat, and rushed away from the fire. It seemed to have moved up, to the second floor, mushrooming against the ceilings, setting fire to everything it touched, including the very rafters. The air was rapidly filling with embers and cinders.

Coughing, straining to see clearly through water eyes, Zelda followed the carpet runner. It had to lead to the exit. The front doors were just ahead, she knew it.

But one of Ganondorf's lackeys, the one called Byrne, suddenly blocked their path, eyes wild.

"Where is he?" He rasped, grabbing Zelda's collar. She released Aryll, trying to free herself. But Byrne was half mad. "What have you done?"

"I killed him," Zelda spat, glaring up at him. Now the giant seemed to notice the blood on Zelda's hands, the dark drops on her dress. "Your master is gone."

The words seemed to take forever to register, but suddenly Byrne gently released her, all his strength leaving his body. Zelda pushed past him and opened the great doors, only to arrive at a scene of pure chaos.

Aryll was the first to descend the steps, coughing and rubbing at her smoke-filled eyes. Beyond her, in the garden, an entire army of constables seemed to wait, apparently uncertain of how to proceed in the face of a fire so large. Zelda spotted Onox Gorgon on his knees as two men cuffed him, and several other constables surrounded Officer Impa Shades, who was giving orders. In the distance, Zelda heard the warning bells of a firefighting truck, though there was no telling where they'd get the necessary water.

Then, out of the crowd, Midna Black emerged, followed by Dark Forester.

The blaze and the confusion had dazed Zelda. On seeing Dark, she caught herself hoping Link had made it out― but for some reason, Midna had instead released the third sibling and brought him along.

"Where is he?" Dark asked, reaching out to embrace Aryll.

Link. Zelda shook her head. "He's still―"

Dark was about to rush into the fire when Midna pulled on him, hard. "Don't― It's not safe."

"My brother is in there," Dark said, glaring at her. "I have to go."

There was a loud crack in the mansion, and Zelda turned to look back at the flames. From this distance, she could feel the heat on her face. She had been in there only minutes ago. Impossible.

"Link," she whispered, trembling with adrenaline, fear and worry.

"I have to go," Dark said, removing Midna's hand from his arm.

He hurried forward, but he was too late. With another ominous, deep crack, the entire mansion seemed to groan, and suddenly the roof pitted, collapsing. The rush of air and debris broke windows on the ground floor, and flames suddenly billowed out in every room, giving the house the look of a screaming inferno.

"Link!" Zelda screamed, her cry visceral, from deep within her gut. She lunged forward, dodging the hands of those who tried to stop her. Every fiber of her body was fighting her as she raced towards the fire.

As she raced up the steps, the path was blocked.

"Byrne―"

But it wasn't Byrne. The Byrne she had seen had looked human. This man seemed to melt, his face and hands covered in welts, his clothes ablaze. For a moment, Zelda's heart stopped in raw terror. This man looked like a monster.

"Help…" He croaked, barely audible above the roaring fire. Then, he fell to his knees before her, collapsed to the ground, and died.

Zelda felt the tears on her cheeks only because they burned. There was no way forward, only fire. Flames and smoke.

"Link!" She cried, her throat burning, her hair burning, her eyes burning.

"Get her out of the way!"

Suddenly, she was aloft, her feet no longer touching the ground, and the firm, unyielding grip of the constables dragged her away from the fire. She struggled.

"No, I have to go― He's in there!" Zelda begged, weeping. " _Link_!"

"Stop fighting," the man carrying her commanded, and she wept wretchedly, all the strength leaving her body.

They placed her in the back of a car, locking the door to keep her from escaping. Now she could see the state of her dress, the soot and cinders, the burnt smell of her hair. She felt the welts on her hands, where the blood had been, and realized she was lucky to be alive.

The weight of it all crashed onto her shoulders. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, helpless, as consciousness began to fade.

The world grew dark and the pain began to disappear, and for a blissful moment Zelda shut her eyes, ready to surrender.

She awoke in a bed, the confusion enough to make her blink several times. Everything was pristine, and she'd had a change of clothes. She was lying down, though she was certain she had been sitting in a car only minutes earlier.

"There she is," a gentle, familiar voice said.

She turned to peer at her father, who was sitting in a chair nearby.

"Papa," she rasped, her voice unused. The pain of speaking was surprising.

"Don't force it, my dear," he said, his thick beard disguising a relieved smile. "The doctors said you suffered from some smoke inhalation. It could have been much worse."

"Where…?"

"Castleton General Hospital," her father supplied. "The burn ward. It appears this family has a predisposition for hospitals," he added, wryly.

Zelda shut her eyes, the memories vivid. Link. The Sword. Ganondorf Dragmire's blood. The fire. Byrne, dying.

Now the tears came silently.

"They said you would be upset," her father said, softly. He reached out to touch her bandaged hands. "I am sorry, my darling."

"He's dead," Zelda whispered.

Her father's silence was all the confirmation she needed. She brought her hand up to her mouth, the quiet agony too unbearable to describe.

"Oh, skies," she managed, her voice broken.

It was all her fault.

She ought to have stopped him. What madness had possessed him to go back into that hell, where nothing but death could possibly have awaited him?

The feeling of his forehead, pressed against hers, came to her unbidden. _I love you_ , he'd said. _Protect Aryll_.

The tears on her cheeks burned, trailing as they did down sensitive skin. It appeared she had sustained minor burns to the face and hands, as well as a few cuts and bruises. It hurt, but not as much as the grief in her heart.

Link.

The door to her room opened, and Zelda's father turned to smile at the visitors.

Aryll. Dark. Both wearing black. Zelda wanted to burrow into her blankets, to be swallowed up by an abyss. The despair of witnessing their grief was like a blow. But she sat up all the same, remembering her manners. It would not do to hide from them. They had suffered a greater loss than she.

"Good afternoon," her father said, unaware of her pain.

"Good afternoon," Aryll replied. She looked tired, and her eyes could barely meet Zelda's. "We wanted to know how― how you were doing."

Zelda looked down at her lap, her hands balled up into white-knuckled fists. "I'm fine," she whispered. It was hard to keep the tears from flowing. Mustering up every ounce of courage she possessed, she looked at both of them earnestly and said, "I am so sorry for your loss."

Dark's expression was impassive, but his cheeks seemed hollow, his gaze empty. Aryll, for her part, seemed exhausted, dark circles lining her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, meekly.

"Thank you for saving Aryll," Dark said, his voice raw. "It's…" He inhaled, for composure. "It's what he would have wanted."

Zelda nodded, in too much pain to speak.

They stood in silence, until at last Aryll said, "We wanted to know if you were awake. We'll be leaving for home today. Thank you," she said at last. "For everything. And…" She eyed her brother, then turned back to Zelda and her father, "And we're so, so sorry for the pain and anguish we put you through." She pulled a soot-covered envelope and handed it to Zelda's father. "Our reward. We stole from you. It's yours."

But Lionel Nohansen Harkinian did not reach out for the envelope. He didn't even look at it. He peered at both remaining Forester siblings with a fatherly, curious look. "We neither want nor need that money. What I do need is a helping hand."

Aryll blinked, startled.

"What do you mean?" Dark asked, his brow furrowed.

"I need help sorting through all the artifacts that remain. We have too many to handle. I need more hands. My health is not what it used to be. You'd be paid, of course."

"You don't have to do that," Dark said.

"But I want to," Zelda's father said, calmly.

Zelda fell back against her pillows, trying not to think. They spoke for a while, and at one point even Midna Black entered the room. Then they left, and she remained alone, in silence.

Link. When she shut her eyes, she saw his smile, felt his touch, heard his voice. He was gone. How? In some remote part of her consciousness, she still wanted to believe it was impossible, that the man she had known and loved was too alive to be dead.

She had felt this way after her mother, too. For months she had thought instinctively to ask her for her opinion, to show her what she was accomplishing, only to realize, in a cold, painful moment, that there would be no more talking to her mother, no more showing.

Link. She shut her eyes against the pain.

A polite knock at the door pulled her out of her miserable mourning.

Impa Shades stepped in, apologizing for the disturbance. She had questions to ask about the fire, questions about the entire development of that fateful evening. Zelda indulged her, recounting the events that had led her to this hospital bed in a disjointed, monotonous story, trying hard not to cry.

"Officer Shades," Zelda said, her voice still raspy. Impa Shades looked up from the notes she was penciling. "Have you found his body?"

"Not yet," Impa Shades said, gravely, though she could see the sympathy in her eyes. "The entire mansion collapsed. We're still working our way through the debris."

Zelda nodded. "So. Neither of them, then?"

"Neither, I'm sorry."

"In your experience," Zelda said, measuring her words to control her voice, "could anyone survive a fire like that?"

The expression on Impa Shades' face was all the answer she needed. Repressing a sob, Zelda nodded, quietly.

"I understand," she whispered.

"I am sorry for your loss," Officer Shades said. "I will be in touch if anything new comes up."

Zelda waited for the chief constable to leave, then curled over on her side, ignoring the pain.

Wanting him had been a pointless notion. He had been perfect for her, and now that she had failed to catch him, she was drowning. Too late, now.

Shutting her eyes, she cried, the sobs wracking her entire body, until the exhaustion and physical pain became too much, and she drifted back into a fitful sleep.

In her dreams, she told him she loved him in return, but he never replied. He never would again.

* * *

 **Nuu!**

 **Tomorrow, there will be an epilogue.**

 **And in that epilogue, things will not be shitty.**

 **No, really. I promise.**

 **I mean, have you ever known me to kill a main character off-screen?** **I hate to quote the Happy Mask Salesman, here, but... Have faith!**

 **Also, since tomorrow will be my last update in a while, I'd like to remind you that, should you ever need to contact me beyond that point, you can just private message me. I'm not too bad with private messages, even if I don't usually answer reviews.**


	15. Epilogue

**What! I made it! I made it! Against all odds and in spite of my restless hype!**

 **See you at the end.**

* * *

EPILOGUE

When Zelda walked into the house, she and her father were greeted with warm applause.

It was a cool autumn evening, the breeze bringing with it a hint of winter. The gas street lamps in Faron brought out the light gold in the leaves. Inside the house, however, one might have believed it was summer. An entire crowd of well-wishers and family friends had gathered to welcome them both home and celebrate their health.

It was touching, in a way, though all Zelda wanted to do was curl up in her room and mourn in peace. Both Aryll and Dark had accepted employment under her father, and they had gone home to Ordon to conclude what business remained to complete. They hadn't mentioned the closing of Link's accounts, but the dull look in their eyes had spoken volumes.

Midna Black, too, had gone home to Twilight, choosing to give them all time to grieve. When enough time had passed, Zelda knew, she would return for Dark. They had seemed mostly inseparable over the past few days, silently supporting one another.

As the staff came forward to congratulate her father on his miraculous recovery, Zelda slipped away. No doubt her father noticed, but he kindly said nothing.

Further into the house, as she escaped from the raucous noise of celebration, she began to feel the crushing loneliness.

It was alien to her. In a way, she was exactly where she had started. At home, with her father, as she had been for years. And yet, the voice inside her wept bitterly, a mourning that seemed to transcend the ages.

She mouthed his name to thin air, and the tears came again, though she had been sure she had cried every last drop the day before. And again the day before that.

Wiping the tears away was a futile exercise, but she tried anyway.

Leaning against the hallway wall, she took a moment to compose herself. She took deep breaths, sniffed, wiped her eyes in a kerchief. She had a headache brewing, a consequence of the tears, but she was tired, too, tired of socializing and tired of sobbing when she wasn't careful to stay numb.

Sniffing again to attempt some sort of composure, she suddenly smelled something soft.

It was a fragrant scent, and oddly familiar, a scent she had not smelled in this lifetime.

Pausing, Zelda blinked. _This_ lifetime? She would have scoffed if not for the powerful feeling that overtook her every time she inhaled it.

It smelled like flowers. But which ones? The scent was lighter than lavender, less pungent than geraniums, not as exotic as orange blossoms―

She ambled down the hallway now, absolutely lost in thought. It seemed like no flower scent she could identify in recent memory. If not for the strange feeling of déjà vu, she might have sworn the smell was entirely alien to her, a completely foreign blossom without a traceable mark in her memory. New, yet old. Very old.

Abstractly, she recalled laughter and pain, horror and tears, and hope, but nothing more tangible, and nothing she could pin to her actual personal history. How odd.

The smell grew stronger as she approached her study, and she paused, the train of thought maddening. Where in the world had she smelled this scent? How could it be both familiar and not?

She swung the door open, pensive, the thought on the tip of her tongue, and was suddenly assailed by the full-bodied perfume of hundreds of flowers.

She blinked. Everywhere she looked, white and blue flowers were displayed, in vases, in bouquets, in great woven ornaments, in entire sheaves. The smell was strong, and sweet, and comforting, and it made her tremble. No area of her study had been spared. She might as well have walked into a garden.

Licking her lips nervously, she looked at the center of the room, in that place where she had been with him, and froze.

With a cry, she stumbled forward, and ran her hand against the Master Sword, carefully laid out on the carpet.

Her heart started beating loudly, a great thumping in her chest. There, the Fused Shadows, and Majora's Mask, and the Rod of Seasons, and the Goddess Harp― everything that had been taken, here!

But… How?

She kneeled, lifting the Ocarina of Time with trembling hands. All around her, thousands of blooming flowers seemed to drown her in memory, and suddenly she knew what these flowers were called: silent princesses. And she could have sworn she remembered another life, or many other lives, with their triumphs and disappointments, their pains and their joys.

"Link," she whispered.

Now her heart began to race, her blood pounding in her ears. She pushed herself to her feet, animated with a lingering hope that she had been certain was wilted, suddenly both rejuvenated and terrified.

She ran through the flowers and to the window, pushing it open and feeling the sudden autumn night air hit her like a hammer blow to the chest. But she braced herself and leaned out, eyes wide, desperate for something, for a sign.

The street was deserted, mostly, the falling leaves beginning to carpet the ground in gold and red. Somewhere down the road, under one of the street lamps, a lone figure was walking slowly, and Zelda felt her heart pounding against her ribcage.

"Link!"

The figure paused, but did not turn around, lowering his hat against his eyes instead, and continuing his walk.

But Zelda knew.

Pushing away from the window, she ran back outside, hopping over the artifacts in one bound, and she ran down the hallway, pulling the hem of her dress out of the way. Without pausing a single second, she raced down the staircase to the kitchen. The nearest door was gaping slightly to let the heat of the ovens escape. She did not wait to greet Cook, who peered at her in utter confusion, pushing her whole weight against the door instead, and tumbling out into the small vegetable garden. Then, she gathered up her skirt and pushed herself over the short fence, as she had done countless times when she was a child, and she was in the street.

She peered into the barely illuminated dark of the road. The figure was even smaller now, a mere silhouette in the distance.

"Miss Zelda?" Cook asked, peering out at her from the house.

"I'm alright, Mrs. Cook," Zelda said, barely glancing back. "I will be right back."

And, removing her heeled shoes, she started to run. The pavement was cold against her stockings, and there were several puddles and wet leaves that splashed against her shins, but she couldn't think. There was no cold in that moment, no danger, no fear. The mud was perfect, the leaves as pure as liquid gold, the air bracing, the stars brighter than diamonds.

There was hope in her heart, in her lungs, in her veins. Her entire body worked with her, her dress felt light against her skin, her feet barely touched the ground.

She wouldn't let him get away.

There he was, familiar even with the lowered hat and the coat, the street lights casting a warm glow on him. She caught up to him, breathless, and he stopped walking.

When he spoke, she knew: "I didn't think you'd want to see me."

Zelda could have wept with joy. "You were never known for your wisdom."

Then, before he could reply, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the wool of his coat. Gently, with one movement, he turned around, and suddenly she was looking up into his eyes.

He looked different. His hair was shorter― like hers. A necessity after having singed so much of it. And he seemed strangely anxious.

"I didn't mean to hurt you or your father. What happened was my fault. I hope you will accept my apology."

Zelda blinked at him. "And you thought a roomful of flowers and artifact restitution would do?"

Link swallowed hard. "I meant to recover all the money you may have lost as a result of my actions―"

Zelda rolled her eyes. "Oh, Link." Then, without giving him time to think twice on the matter, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him squarely on the lips.

He didn't wait before wrapping his arms around her. It was nice. Comforting, familiar, and combined with the exhilaration of relief, of stolen time, it was the best kiss of Zelda's life.

Then, as he broke for air, Link looked down at her, his brow furrowed. "Were you hurt?" He ran one of her shorter locks through his fingers, frowning. "I didn't―"

"Minor burns, they're mostly healed now. They feel like a bad sunburn," Zelda said. "How did you escape? The house― it collapsed."

Link looked sheepish. "I broke a window and ran out sometime before that. Then I saw the constables everywhere, and I realized how guilty I looked, with every single robbery item on me, and I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't want them to think I was to blame. I wanted to return them to you, and you only."

"We thought you were dead," Zelda cried, poking him sharply in the chest. "Not a word, not a telegram―" She gasped. "Your brother and sister!"

Link cringed, though there was no telling whether this was due to the finger bruising his chest or the embarrassment. "Actually, they knew almost as soon as I got out. I asked Dark and Aryll to play the part. I wanted to see how amenable you were to restitution, and when they told me you had said no to the money―"

"Oh, the three of you are idiots," Zelda said, unable to keep the fondness out of her annoyance. "I grieved for you!"

Link peered down at her, his boyish charm the same as it had always been, since that first night in Clock Town. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm relieved to hear it."

"What was your plan, exactly?" Zelda asked, crossing her arms. "Vanish into the night?"

Link smiled. "It's what I do."

"There will be no more vanishing," Zelda insisted, angrily. "I have had enough of it."

Link echoed her stance, crossing his arms, raising a brow. "I don't think you have the authority to command that."

"You said you loved me," Zelda reminded him. "I was completely smoked out, but I remember that much. And if you meant it―"

"I did."

Zelda swallowed hard at the look in his eyes, then forged onward. "If you meant it, you will not vanish again."

Link rolled his eyes. Now, he looked exactly like the man she had known, the man she had lain with on that carpet, the man she wanted in her life for the rest of her days. "What's in it for me?"

She gaped. "What, you want payment?"

Link shrugged, evidently amused. "I think it's only fair."

"Fair?!"

He reached out, took her arm and pulled her forward, until she was standing in the circle of his arms. The trees rustled, and a new flurry of leaves fell around them in the semi-darkness. Here, against the warmth of his body, feeling the steady pulse of his heart, Zelda felt safe and embarrassingly happy.

"I think a dowry will do," he mused.

"A dowry," Zelda echoed, dumbly.

He smiled, and she let him kiss her again, feeling every nerve in her body glow with delight.

"Well?" He asked, when he stopped, though he still kept his forehead against hers.

She nodded mutely, unable to keep the smile from her face.

"Good."

He kissed her again, and again, and again, until she began to shiver and he realized she was barefoot. With an oath, he scooped her up off the ground, and she squeaked.

"Let's get you home," he said, his voice hoarse. Zelda's lips felt pleasantly tingly, and she could only giggle like a girl. She spent the entire walk back kissing his cheek, the only part of his face she had ready access to, delighted by the stubble she felt against her lips.

As they reached the garden gate, Link put her back on her feet carefully, and they looked at each other in pleased silence.

Then, they raised their eyes towards the sky, to the millions of stars shining overhead, and in that moment, they could have sworn the moon itself was, at last, within their reach.

* * *

 **... So! I told you everything would be fine.**

 **And with that, this story concludes. I think it wasn't a bad run for something that required so much darn effort and discipline. Not sure I will ever have the nerve to attempt something like that again before a while.**

 **Still, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm glad we got to share something during the wait for _Breath of the Wild_ , and I appreciate all the encouragement you've given me when the going got tough.**

 **For those of you who have been following along all this time without a word, I now invite you to leave a quick review. Even a score out of ten, with nothing else, will do, if only to acknowledge it was legible. Thank you ahead of time, and take extra good care of yourselves.**

 **All my love,**  
 **CM**

 **P.S. GET HYPE**


End file.
